


Climbing a Very Small Mountain

by DC_Chan



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dating, Dogs, Horrible dating advice, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Short!Tony, They're only trying to help, Thigh sex, heightkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DC_Chan/pseuds/DC_Chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony Stark is short, and he doesn't like it, and he has reasons for not liking it. Steve thinks this is fine, as long as he goes out on a date with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Tony Stark is Short

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a prompt for short!Tony, found out that RDJ is only 5'8", and wanted to write something fun. Like height sex. Then this happened and I don't even know-plot-why? So now I have two chapters of PLOT before I can get to the height-difference PWP I wanted. 
> 
> Life is hard.
> 
> It's also my first time writing in a while, and my first Avengers fic, so make sure to yell at me for tenses and other stuff. I'll try to do better next time. T_T

Tony Stark never real thought about his height until he started college.  Prior to this period of time, stuck in high school with other pre-pubescent boys and girls, he never really stuck out.  He wasn’t the shortest, that was a title given to the freshmen just coming in, but he wasn’t towering over everyone like the gawky basketball players or extremely butch (possibly using steroids mixed in their PowerAde?) football players.  All in all, he was comfortable with his height and that was fine.

But then, stepping into the advanced circuitry class at MIT on the first day, knowing he’s dropping the class simply because he’s finished most of the homework assignments posted online in the past three hours, Tony is abruptly struck by how tiny he is. Well, not tiny, Anthony Edward Stark could never be classified as “tiny” in any manner, but something seemed off. As if all his fellow students have been injected with some sort of growth serum after freshman orientation and he hadn’t gotten the memo.

Even Galina, the lonely female in the electrical engineering department, was taller than him.

Granted, she was European, Tony knew this from very _personal_ experience, but it still stings a little when he has to be the one to lean his head on her shoulder. The fond smile she shoots down at him every time he did this rubs the salt deeper into the open wound known as his pride.

He tried really hard to be disappointed when Galina had a sudden change of heart and switched majors to underwater basket weaving with a minor in interpretive dance.

Her parting comment of, “You are so cute, like a small, defenseless kitten stuck on its back“, coupled with a pat on the head informed Tony that he didn’t hide his Napoleon-complex well enough.

“Tony, you’re worrying too much about this.” His mother said in one of her rare calls between charity balls. “Height is nothing you can control. It’s in your genes. Look at your father. You’ll catch up soon.”

Tony wasn’t even close to Howard Stark’s six-foot frame, which bothered him much more than it really should, and he only reached his mother’s height of five-foot-nine on a good day when he was wearing dress shoes and she was in flats. If he was going to have a growth spurt, surely it would have happened before he turned eighteen?

In publicity photos he’s always placed between his parents, or standing slightly behind and to the side while they’re both sitting. The photographers and paparazzi say it’s so the photo will look more balanced. Tony knows what they’re really thinking when he is tugged into position, his mother placing an awkward, but comforting, hand at the small of his back.

_Tony Stark is shorter than both his parents and he’s not getting taller anytime soon, so we might as well make the best of what we have. It was cute when he was nine. At nineteen it’s a little ridiculous and sad at the same time. Maybe something is stunting his growth?_

He stops drinking coffee to make a point. He lasts twenty-two hours before he inhales an entire pot. Black; like his mood. Screw scientific research that might show a correlation between height and caffeine intake. It’s all bullshit.

Of course, his lack of height isn’t on his mind when his parents die. There is a sharp spike of pain he didn't think he'd have whenever he thinks that now he will never have the two taller people to bracket him when he goes into polite society. Another, much, much smaller part of him is a tiny bit happy that he can no longer be compared to his parents; be it their achievements or their height.

Tony decides drinking is a good way to avoid a lot of problems, his height being the least of them.

\---

After a while the gap at his side is filled with a Ms. Pepper Potts, a super secretary _angel_ sent from heaven who had somehow been cursed with the responsibility of making Tony seem responsible. She refuses to listen to his excuses (such as forgetting the keys to his car when everyone knew Happy chauffeured him everywhere), and had no hesitations against calling him at two in the morning because I-know-you’re-up-you-can’t-fool-me-you-don’t-sleep-and-you-need-to-sign-these-or-we-default-on-fifty-loans-and-lose-seven-patents.

Also, every Tuesday she brought in a new type of dessert from home. Tony called it bribery and surprise feeding. Pepper called it stress baking.

Either way, Tony stopped picking as many arguments due to the copious amount of calories suddenly being supplemented into his diet.

He couldn’t help but feel a little deceived, though, once he found out about Pepper’s illustrious love affair with high heels.

Instead of liking sensible heels, kitten heels, heels less than an inch in height, heels made for the elderly and infirm, Tony discovers that Pepper’s deviances leaned towards the skyscraper-in-height-heels. Heels that change her diminutive five-foot-four stature into a towering five-foot-eight, or even five-foot-nine if she was feeling particularly feisty that day.

He felt…betrayed. And no matter how amazing it was watching Pepper run in them without falling, often after him when he was trying to escape a multi-national board meeting, the heels remained to remind him of his own…short-comings. The pictures on the corporate website looked ridiculous, with the crest of Tony's hair having a passing fling with his secretary's eye level when she decided to wear her "important business" heels.

Then again, the heels were also the spark of salvation.

With a little research, and a couple hours in the lab, Tony has figured out a more subtle way of increasing his height than Pepper’s 6-inch, turquoise, python, Gucci heels. Those had been purchased as a small thank you for the carrot cake last Tuesday. It was really the cheesecake frosting that drove him to buy such an inconceivable pair of shoes, but Pepper adored them and that was all that mattered.

The next time Tony steps into public, posture ramrod perfect to maximize his small stature; he is wearing a new custom made pair of Armani loafers. Discrete, yet still screaming a five-figure price tag, no one at the event suspected they added a couple of inches to a certain billionaire playboy's height.

The two inches made all the difference in the world when he's finally able to smile down into Pepper's eyes instead of up.

\---

The other gap in his life, a vacant spot to his left usually filled with an even more distant father, is occupied by his old friend Rhodey. An inch taller than Howard Stark, but a much bigger man overall, he helps Tony get through the important stuff: drinking large amounts of liquor, talking about ladies, and Iron Man.

He doesn't even mind the fact that, because Rhodey is six-foot-one, there is a five-inch difference in their heights. This turns into a steep six inches when Tony slouches a bit and Rhodey is standing at attention. When Rhodey hugs him, Tony is able to fit his head underneath the blocky chin if he leans forward just a tad. He feels completely safe for a moment, as if Rhodey has come to save him from Afghanistan again.

Tony loves Rhodey's hugs, even if they do remind him he's short. He's okay if it's Rhodey. He forces a hug every time Rhodey comes home from deployment.

Rhodey never mentions this because he is the best. It may also have to do with blackmail and Tony's strange habit of calling him 'honeybear' whenever he sees him, but Tony likes to believe Rhodey puts up with him because he's Rhodey and it's just what he does when faced with Tony.

Rhodey is the _best._

Every once in a while he'll brings up the lifts, though, commenting on how Tony isn't that short and he shouldn't worry too much about it. Tony will then look up from his tinkering at the kitchen table, he liked to pretend to be a good host the first couple of hours when Rhodey visits, with a screwdriver or some other power tool clenched between his teeth. He'll shove it into his back pocket and spit out a couple of screws and nuts that were in his mouth onto the counter before stumbling into the living room, collapsing on the couch face first.

Rhodey will try to talk about the height-enhancing shoes and other topics that are out of bounds, such as his suicidal tendencies and never ending need for coffee. He is only able to safely even mention them after Tony has been working for over three days straight, hoping to trick Tony into giving them up along with other vices. It has become a signal for Tony to begin mumbling nonsense into the couch cushions and to try and squirm his way into Rhodey's lap for another hug or to convince him into handing over War Machine for unauthorized upgrades.

Rhodey takes it like a champ and has decided a long time ago that sometimes Tony just needs these little things to give him control. Lifts in his shoes. A new woman on his arm every night. Unending supplies of alcohol. Iron Man.

Of all these things, Tony loves it when he's Iron Man the best. He's five inches taller and can almost look Rhodey straight in the eye and pretend that he's half the man his friend is.

\---

When Tony meets Captain America for the first time, he's prepared for the insults. Ready to field the questions about this futuristic time period. Knows the answer he should give when asked who he is. Anticipating the anger and rage that will be aimed towards him for sullying his father's name.

He stares up at blue eyes that burn ice cold like the prison Captain America had been trapped in. Tony hasn't felt this small since sixth grade when everyone started to grow and he didn't.

"No offense, but I don't play well with others." Tony's words come out flippant and ass-holey, a defense mechanism that rears its ugly head whenever someone is more than an inch taller than him. Pepper has gotten this attitude when she wears her power-woman heels.

"Big man in a suit armor. Take that away, what are you?"

"Uh, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist?" Tony knows he is all these things, knows this is what he is, as well as he knows that Captain America will see each of these as a fatal flaw.

It hurts all the same even when he knows the outcome.

\---

After the first couple of fights, things get easier. The team becomes more important than the issues between Captain America and Iron Man, and both decide to call a truce of sorts.

They don't talk to each other when outside of uniform.

Steve knows it has something to do with the armor; it has to be since Tony is borderline amicable when he's in it, but he can't figure out why. It doesn't help that he always keeps the faceplate slammed down during missions or if there is a slim chance of talking with Steve, even though the whole world knows who Iron Man is and his connection to Tony Stark.

One morning Tony stumbles into the kitchen, splattered in grease and oil with his feet covered by a pair of disgusting socks. Without looking at Steve, as per usual, he shuffles over to the coffee maker and hits a couple buttons to start the machine brewing. Slumping against the cool granite, a sigh forced its way through his body.

The rest of the Avengers tumble in through the doorway the moment the smell of coffee fills the air, or in the case of Bruce Banner they quietly walk in with the morning paper and make a possibly dangerous decision to stand next to Tony. A few seconds later he brings up the subject of polycarbon-composites thermal spraying and what they might accomplish in the next five years with skeletal implants. Tony perks up enough to answer, which means he was no longer staring at the wall in front of him with a blank and creepy stare.

Steve is about to start on the subject of Tony getting more sleep, the truce of ignoring each other doesn't sit right with him when it looks like the other man is going to keel over from sleep exhaustion, when Clint lets out a snort.

"Shit, Stark, I thought our good doctor was the shortest guy on this team, but he's got at least an inch on you." Hawkeye took a bite from his uncooked pop-tart, ignoring the begging face and grabby hands Thor was making next to him, "What are you, five-eight?"

Natasha sends Clint an intense look across the table, trying to communicate something deep and meaningful that she probably learned while working for Tony, then follows it up with a swift kick. Steve doesn't understand until he turns and sees Tony standing rigidly upright under his own manpower before 8am. No longer lounging across the counter. Not flirtatiously looking over at his teammate while blowing a kiss. Not even cracking a superior smirk and a rude hand gesture.

Tony Stark is completely alert, even though he hasn't slept in what is most likely a couple days, and stares at Clint Barton with a face so bland that it actually hurts to look at it.

Without a word he walks out the kitchen and back into the basement.

He doesn't come back upstairs for another three days, clearly in a sleep exhaustion zombie state when he shuffles across the threshold. He's now wearing a pair of expensive looking shoes that make him stand straight and lifts his heels marginally.

Tony no longer walks around his own mansion barefoot.

\---

There's the screech of metal buckling and a certain dampness on his skin that he knows is blood. He doesn't know if it's his or not, the last five or so minutes of the battle a blur in his memory, but he definitely knows the feeling of blood on his skin. He's an expert on that type of thing. Personal experience and whatnot.

His arm is yanked up abruptly, repulsor ripped off by someone who has to be Thor just because of the strength and lack of tact, and cold fingers are pressed against his wrist. He tries to say something but can only choke around the liquid that is, for some reason, in his mouth. Warm and sticky and tasting of copper.

Shit.

"Tony? Tony!" An explosion in the background and the ground shifts in protest, "We have to get the rest of the suit off. I can't tell what damage he has with it on." Tony hissed through his clenched teeth when he was moved into a new position, back pressed against something unyielding and hard as another section of Iron Man was removed haphazardly.

"He’s tiny without it. You know he's just going to get more injured out of spite." Clint supplies helpfully from the background, letting out an unmanly yelp when another explosion goes off a little too close for comfort. "It's the type of thing Stark does!"

The cold hand squeezes into the gap created by the working half of the faceplate, shoving against a non-responsive panel that is no longer moving, all energy resources from the arc reactor being used to force Tony to keep breathing around a punctured lung.

Clint sprints off with Natasha, chasing behind Hulk who was going on a blind rampage against the villain who shot the missile into Iron Man's path. They're hoping to get a piece of the action, but are mostly there to keep an eye on Hulk since he could potentially turn at any moment and start ripping out telephone posts.

Thor continues his efforts of tearing off huge chunks of metal, smaller pieces being tugged at and abandoned when they're too imbedded in skin and muscle to be trifled with. The pain has turned into a white throb, only spiking when Thor grabs at a piece of shrapnel that is a little too close to an artery for comfort. Tony flinches when he thinks about armor cleanup after this mission is finished.

Head tilted up and to the side, Tony expects to be staring up at the sky or a destroyed building when he finally manages to get one eye open. He finds himself looking up into the concerned eyes of Captain America, clear blue searching his exposed face with a smile and frown battling for dominance. The smile wins when he notices Tony staring blankly at him.

He wasn't leaning against a piece of debris like he thought. He was sprawled between Captain America's legs, head tilted back against a mail-clad shoulder and arms draped over a steadier pair wrapped around his midsection. He could feel Steve take a deep breath against his back after Tony blinked slowly, stripped as he was down to his skintight black under armor.

Tony waits for something to go off in his head. To start calculating the difference in height between his head and Steve's. To feel the usual building of denial and frustration at his lack of height.

When nothing happens, Tony's fine with that.

\---

"Is he okay?"

Steve jerked his head up from examining the too clean hospital floor and catches the searching gaze of the woman he assumes is Pepper Potts. He can only base his hypothesis off the numerous tales he hears Tony spin about her (they have to be fictional, nobody is that perfect), the blurry photos that show up in the newspaper whenever a scandal with Tony is published, and the tiny pixelated picture that shows up most of the time when Tony's overly-complex phone begins to ring obnoxiously. He wasn't expecting her to come to NY from LA, and in less than two hours after the accident had been aired un-tactfully on most major news stations.

This meant she must have already been en route, which makes the arrival ill-timed and leaves a sour taste in Steve’s mouth.

Her red hair is professionally pulled back into a simple ponytail, slim body clad in a tailored suit, and makeup flawless. The only thing out of place is the small indent between her waxed eyebrows and the slightly hollow look of someone who knows exactly how close a loved one came to dying.

"Captain? Is Tony okay?" She refused to look through the window that showed a view of the private room, eyes locked on the man who was the Avengers leader and was supposed to make sure Tony didn't do stupid things like this anymore.

He can't stop thinking of how small Tony was when he was pulled from the armor, passed out and limp to be loaded onto a private helicopter to be transported. Can't stop thinking of how Tony looks even smaller, if possible, swathed in white on the hospital bed after a successful, and slightly panicked, emergency surgery.

Steve gave a quiet nod; tongue plastered to the roof of his mouth, and stood up to walk the woman into the room. He didn't think Tony was comfortable working with tall people, and Pepper Potts was one of them being only a couple inches shorter than Steve. Maybe he only had a problem with his height when it was a man who was taller?

Her voice came out as a soft whisper, "Oh, Tony, you promised…" Tears shimmered, but don’t fall, in the low-grade institutional lighting when her eyes have finished their path tracing, and cataloging, everything wrong with her employer.

"Hey, Pep." Tony winced at the grating sound of his voice and against the ripple of pain that travels through his body, which causes some of the monitors to beep shrilly only to quiet after he takes a couple of quick, shallow breaths.

Instead of rushing to his side and checking if he really is okay, as Steve expected because even he has to tap down on the sudden urge to do it himself, he watches as Pepper drops her purse on the ground and slides her hand down the back of her legs to slip her heels off. Without them she is tiny, so much shorter than a few minutes beforehand, and only after they're off does she cross the remaining distance between herself and the bed in her stocking feet.

"Tony."

"You took off your heels." He mumbled, a fresh dose of pain medication making his eyes droop and a small smile twitch from beneath his goatee. "You love your heels."

"Yeah, I felt like lowering myself to your level for once." She jokes flatly with a watery smile. She sat in the hard plastic chair; hand clasping Tony's that is hooked up to an IV-drip and other tubes keeping him alive. Pepper began a soft, monologue of things she's been doing at the other branch of Stark Industries, what the doctors told her when she walked in, a new recipe she found that she wants to try out, idle gossip about the different departments in the company, the puppy one of her neighbors bought last week.

Little things that distract her mind but still allow her to rub an idle thumb against Tony's wrist to make sure his pulse is beating slow and steady.

Unable to do anything to help ease the pain choking the room, Steve suddenly feels like he is only good at few things in his life besides fighting. Smiling for the cameras at a publicity shoot while being surrounded by cancan dancers. Yelling desperately and reaching out a hand for a comrade falling to their death from a crashing plane. Helping create a team where some members are more concerned about preventing injury to their leader, while ignoring the dangers they put themselves in.

The only person left standing, towering over the other two occupants in the room, has never been faced with such a problem that left him feeling so small and helpless.


	2. Steve Has Mixed Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There are four chapters now. Sorry. D:

Steve Rogers is six-foot-two, two-hundred and twenty pounds of pure muscle, and blond. He often gets called "sex on legs" by random strangers and he sometimes sees people lick their lips when he walks down the street. He is also known as Captain America.

His height confuses and hinders him. Before the super soldier serum he used to be able to grab whatever clothes were available and shrug them on, making sure there weren't any holes then walking out the door. Nowadays he needs to shop at a custom store to account for his height and how long his legs are and how wide across his chest is and how his wrists are almost two times the thickness of a normal man's.

This frustrates him most of the time, wishing he was just a bit smaller, but there are a few things that he likes with his increase in body mass.

He now can find anyone he needs in a crowd. There are few people who are taller than him, such as Thor and professional bodybuilders (they have that now, who knew?), but most of the time he is able to look over the masses of people, find the person he is looking for, and then push his way through the swarm easily to get to them. He still loses Tony from time to time, because the smaller man gets mobbed every time he walks in public with his smirk and tinted sunglasses, signing autographs and taking pictures with women and kissing babies and signing the babies of women after he kisses their mothers. 

Tony doesn't complain when Steve starts putting an arm around his shoulders to keep him close when they walk so he doesn't get jerked away by his adoring and slightly vicious public. He doesn't seem mind that his head barely passes Steve's shoulder even with the lifts. He doesn't really know why, but this makes Steve feel extremely happy and warm inside.

Finding anything in the upper cabinets, even if it's all the way in the back, has become child's play for Steve. He now gets asked by Natasha once a week to get the newly-washed towels off the top shelf, where they are always put by the cleaning company that comes in twice a week no matter how many times they tell them not to. Steve often has to pull Hawkeye out from the top of the entertainment center, the refrigerator, or the gutter of the house after he falls asleep playing Hide and Seek with Thor. 

Steve doesn’t mind when he constantly has to find the coffee tin on the top shelf where Clint keeps putting it there as an ongoing joke, especially since Tony clings to his arm and shoves his body between Steve and whatever he is doing at the time to make him pay attention and go get it now. 

He does blush a little when the smaller man tries to vault over his body when the battered container comes into sight, Tony doing everything in his power to get his caffeine fix. Up to, and including, hooking his leg around Steve’s waist to get that extra boost needed to close the gap. Steve is not ashamed to admit that he sometimes holds the coffee over his head in a brief session of ‘keep away’ to see if Tony will do something differently this time.

He is never disappointed. 

Tonight, Tony uses the counter and Steve’s shoulder to launch onto him piggy-back style to grab the coffee tin, arm hooked around the broader man’s neck as a form of stabilization. 

“It is mentally and physically disturbing to see Stark climbing you like a tree. It is only made worse because I know you’re enjoying it.” Coulson deadpans that evening when he passes through to drop off and pick up paperwork, causing Clint to spit his soda everywhere and Bruce to give a little grin from behind his laptop. Natasha quirks an eyebrow, which speaks volumes in and of itself, and continues to paint her nails a pale pink. Thor laughs and then proceeds to begin a tale about how he once climbed a tree, which was really the leg of a buxom giantess, and he enjoyed it too. Verily.

Steve doesn’t really understand what Coulson means, but he’ll be sure to ask the internet next time he gets on the computer.

The increase in strength is pretty nifty too.

Without the serum Steve had trouble picking up most things that required brute strength, helping his mother bring out the laundry each week was a task that left him heaving and her patting him on the back to complete it by herself after sending him inside. Now, when the Avengers go grocery shopping, a task done at least three or four times a weeks due to the amount of pudding cups Thor goes through and food destroyed by Banner when there is no more ramen for Hulk, Steve finds himself loaded with plastic packages and bags as if he were a pack mule. 

Steve doesn't like that because Thor is a random demigod alien, and doesn't really understand most of the things that come out of 'mere mortals' mouths, and Tony and Bruce only have super strength in crazy save the world missions, it has become the responsibility of Captain America to be the carrier of all things not SHIELD related. This involves following Natasha when she thinks she needs a new wardrobe and visits every designer store in NYC and purchases at least half of their inventory. Or when Clint tries to perch on top of things that cannot hold the weight of a full-grown sniper, often large pieces of art made from metals and marble. When he gets trapped under the abstract shapes or beautiful Greek figures he has the gall to complain the entire time while waiting for everyone to find Steve to free him.

Sometimes Steve wonders why Tony has so much art in his buildings for Clint to get into trouble with, but then he remembers Pepper's influence on her boss. Of course, maybe Pepper doesn't have that great of taste in art if the weird, heavy, blue triangle that's supposed to be a woman is an example of what she likes/thinks is art.

The one thing Steve does like about his new found strength is that he can lift Tony up with little to no effort. Since Tony is six inches shorter, and easily forty pounds lighter, it's simple to pick up him up and carry him to bed when he falls asleep in his workshop after a four day run of manic inventing. The first time JARVIS asks him to do so, Steve is worried that it is an elaborate trick by Tony to make him look stupid. Once Tony is in his arms, head tucked against his collarbone and hands gripping lightly against his white t-shirt, Steve realizes that this feels nice. Maybe too nice.

He doesn't talk to Tony for five days when he reexamines that thought and isn't sure where it is going, even if he doesn't know exactly what "it" is.

"It" is only saved from total disaster because Iron Man and Captain America get stranded in the Arctic after a mission gone wrong, a place Steve swore never to go back again, and Tony had dragged Steve's arms over his own and shoved his back into the warm curve of Steve's stomach. Tony made a snarky comment on how Steve radiated off too much body heat and he needed to share. He rambled a little bit about conservation of energy and transfer of heat between large bodies at rest, before finally settling down with a shiver and snuggling closer.

Steve doesn't know if this is a friendship or a semi-relationship, but right now at this moment he’s too scared that they're never going to get out of this place alive to question what they have. When he takes a deep breath to calm down he can smell Tony's shampoo, something ridiculously expensive mixed with honeydew melon with an undertone of what could only be Tony: hot metal, sweat, stress, and too much ego for one person.

He feels better after that. 

\---

Over the next few months, Steve finds himself falling into a strange sort of dance with Tony.

On some days Tony will be overly-affectionate, borderline ridiculous in the way he sprawls on the couch and ends up draping himself over Steve when they watch the news. When he gets into one of these moods Steve will find himself dragged all over New York City and the boroughs, walking in Central Park with young families, visiting the Brooklyn Museum of Art to see stained glass, experiencing sushi for the first time at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Queens.

Then the next day Tony will be dressed in his armor, not as Iron Man but just as dangerous in an impeccable Brioni three-piece, and he barely spares a glance at Steve when he strides out the door. Coming back from a string of meetings that gains his company millions in profits, the cellphone will remain glued to his ear as he prepares one of his disgusting smoothies that have the consistency of pureed grass. The rapid words coming out of his mouth are half mathematical formula, half scathing remark, and Steve is reminded that Tony has lived a huge portion of his life like this; fighting tooth and nail against people who want to see him fail, and fail spectacularly at that.

He wonders if that's maybe why Tony is so sensitive about his height. Any weakness, even something controlled by genetics, is put on display and attacked in the business world.

Steve wonders if he and Tony would have become friends quicker if he was a couple inches shorter, but decides it isn't worth thinking about because they are friends now. Good friends. Best friends. The type of friend you meet once in your lifetime that you try to keep a hold on. For a second Steve thinks of marriage and soul mates as a proper comparison, but then he is distracted by Tony. Tony who is running into the living room, and he's invented something new, and Steve needs to go downstairs right now and look at it, it's really cool. Steve Steve Steve. Noooooow. Steeeeeeeeeeeve.

The next day they both happen to be in the kitchen at the same time by chance, Steve reading the paper while drinking water and marveling silently at all the new things and Tony inhaling his coffee with his usual focused attention before 9am. Tony looks up, stops drinking his coffee, and Steve braces for an attack. It’s the only possible reason he knows for why the other man would pause in inhaling his third cup, and is shocked by the expression of undiluted joy displayed on Tony’s features.

“Rhodey.”

The awe and pure affection in the breathed word makes Steve jerk his head around to look at the person who has thoroughly charmed Iron Man outside of his suit and other not so physical armor.

An African-American man, almost as tall as Steve, leaned against the doorjamb with a fond smile stretching his lips. “Hey, didn’t think you’d be up here. I checked the workshop and JARVIS told me you were in the kitchen. Awake. After supposedly sleeping for five hours straight? Such a good boy with adult habits.”

In an action that both shocks and disturbs Steve, Tony gets up from the table, _leaving behind his coffee_ , and vaults into the arms of the other man.

"Oh, graham cracker, I've missed you so much." The billionaire sighs happily into the other man’s neck, shifting and pouting and whining until Rhodey sighs and finally wraps his hands around and rests them on the small of his back.  
   
Steve knows it is irrational to feel jealous of someone he has never met, especially since this person seems to mean so much to Tony, but he can't help but resent this person who walks so easily into Tony’s life.  This man who has Tony tucking in his head and clinging as if he was a kindergartener getting picked up after the first day of school. This extremely tall person that Tony trusts completely and doesn't look at with disdain or huff in thinly veiled annoyance when he has to look up, which Tony still does every once in a while when talking to Steve.  
   
"Yeah, yeah, well you know I like to check in. Make sure you still have all your fingers and toes and are still in the country every five months or so. Can't have another Honduras fruit snack incident." 

 “Aw, you really do care!”  Tony murmured fondly, words muffled from being pressed into a sternum.

Rhodey laughed, "Once you stop getting into trouble, maybe I can start actually doing my job." Slapping a hand on Tony's shoulder, he finally notices Steve sitting at the kitchen table. "So, you're the Captain?"

Steve wants to answer, it would be polite to introduce himself properly to this tall person who Tony adores, but his jaw is clenched too tight when the hands make a sudden pass down Tony's back. Tony rotates a quick one-eighty while grabbing the other man's arms so they won't release, and looks at Steve with a wide grin.  
   
"Oh, right, you haven't met the illustrious Lieutenant Colonel Jim Rhodes. Rhodey, that's Captain America. I'm sure you've heard all about him with your good ole boys club. Cap, this is Rhodey. He's the _best_!"

Steve successfully manages to hide his flinch. Tony has never called him the best. 

The two taller men nod and are just about to begin their own introductions when Tony arches his neck backwards to catch Rhodey's eye, causing Steve's jaw to drop and a flush to start at his ear tips while Rhodey sighed. "What are you even doing here? Last I heard, War Machine was on patrols in Africa."

"Isn't a man allowed to come home and check up on those he loves?"

"No."

"Isn't a man allowed to come home and check up on his annoyances?"

A dignified sniff and pout from the smaller man.

"Tony…Come on. Don't do this. Not again. Remember Malaysia? Remember what happened?"

"Yeah, yeah…" A suspicious silence, "Wait a minute; I know what you're up to."

"No, you don't." 

"Yes, I do, s'more. You're trying to get a new suit."

"Tony, no. Stop it. I am not."

Tony frowned, "Yes, you are. You're trying to get a new suit and I'm falling for it." 

"Tony, you don't need to make me a new suit. I just need you to give a little tweak-"

“Fine, fine, fine, fine.  For you, Rhodey, for you, I will make you a new suit that is 120% better than that pile of garbage you have now because I'm sure your buddies on the base think they made it better with their "upgrades" and whatnot. I will make it beautiful! I will return my baby to what it once was before you stole it!" Tony rambled theatrically as he detangled himself from Rhodey, who was now actively trying to keep him from running off. "Your suit will reach Mach three! It will have more guns, you like guns, maybe a cannon, and-"

"Tony. You're not painting it red."

Tony's mouth snapped shut, an action Steve has never seen and again he wonders if Rhodey has some sort of magical control over Tony.

"But…I like red." Tony whined while rocking petulantly against Rhodey's arms.

"No."

"Yellow."

"No."

"…Tangerine?"

Rhodey pushed him away with a laugh, "Tony. Leave it ugly. You can paint my car."

Tony made a scandalized look and backed away quickly. "No, no, no, you keep your Prius. I don't even want to look at that monstrosity of a design." 

At the threshold he turns around, remembering at the last moment that he has previous plans, "Cap, we're still on for tonight? Can we bring Rhodey for pizza? He loves pizza, you love pizza! It’ll be great!" Without waiting for an answer, he continues down the hallway talking to himself about pizza, and Rhodey, and equations, and robots, and other things that hold his short attention span.

Steve nods with a tight smile and waits for Tony get out of earshot before he turns to the man who, technically, outranks him.  
   
The brown eyes are all business when they meet his.  
   
“What are you doing with Tony?”  It is a threat mixed with a question, and it throws Steve for a second. Usually when someone asks him that question the emotions behind it range from baffled confusion, in the case of tabloid reporters who follow them around when in the city, to incredulous (Clint had choked on his Lucky Charms the first time he saw Tony curled up and sleeping next to Cap, who was watching a romcom).

Steve stands after folding his newspaper neatly, looking at the other man and trying to make the inch difference in height feel like a mile. He feels a little bit like a cat poofing up when faced with a dog. Or a vacuum cleaner.

"Tony doesn't do…tall." Rhodey says, not ruffled by the super soldier. "In fact, I know you're way too tall for Tony. Usually he goes after flavor of the months who don't mind being short for a billionaire. So, explain to me: what are you doing with him?"

There are a thousand ways Steve can respond, all flying around in his head like a flock of released birds, but he does the only thing he can do. He sighs, sounding defeated and world weary, and leans against the back of the chair he just vacated. “I don’t know.”

Rhodey smiles, which Steve thinks is odd, “Good. That's the best idea when dealing with Tony. Don't try to predict what he's going to do, just know it'll be idiotic and it'll happen soon enough.” He steps forward with hand extended, clasping Steve’s in a firm shake before releasing, “I can’t tell you what I was expecting when Tony started going on and on about Captain America and how he was living in the same house with him, and all this other blather.”

“Tony talks about me?”

“All the time.” Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose, looking upset he even brought the topic up, “Look, I was afraid I was going to get here too late and he’d have tricked you into marriage or a domestic union or some other type of harebrained scheme.”

“Marriage?” Steve thanks a higher power that his voice does not crack on the word, “But, Tony and I are friends. He’s never shown he wanted…more.” He flexed his hands uselessly at his sides, wondering how much time he has wasted not acting on that small urge buried at the back of his mind.

“You go on dates.” Rhodey’s tone of voice screams that Steve is an idiot even though his volume is low. 

“What?”

“He’s taken you out on at least six dates, according to the tabloids. Pepper says it’s four, but that’s because she’s not counting the midnight diner run and that day he showed you the dog park.”

Steve is silent and he knows his face is a mixture of shell shock and surprise.

“Shit, you really didn’t know.”

“I…”

“Oh god, your eyes. Tony told me about them, I didn’t believe him, but they really are-“ Rhodey broke off and wept silently to himself at being surrounded by this soap opera romance, which he now has to be the director of, “You both are hopeless and I can't believe I have to help you get together. It's like an after school special.”

Steve sighed again.

“But I guess you want to try it with him, since you’re still here. Looking like a puppy. A puppy that's being teased with a treat after doing something bad. Oh god, that means Tony is the bone. I just-”

Steve groaned, wondering if Rhodes just insulted him in a roundabout way, but he's too busy trying to figure out what is considered a date nowadays when all he was did was wander around the city with Tony. Did the museum count as one? Maybe when they fed ducks in the park…? 

“All right.” Rhodey takes a deep breath through his nose, letting it out his mouth, “Okay, well, Tony has had a lot of experience being an idiot, so you’ll probably have to hammer the point home. I have a feeling you won’t give up on him when he does something stupid, like lights his eyebrows on fire or forgets to wear pants.” Rhodey leaned against a counter, thoughtful expression replacing the panicky one from earlier.

"Hell, he already does that, and you're still here. So your main problem is going to be trying to convince Tony that it's okay that you know that you're possibly going out with him without giving him a heart attack. And that you aren't going to leave him when someone taller comes along." 

"This is confusing." Steve thinks back on simpler times, back when all you had to do to "go steady" was to ask the dame if they wanted to go to a dance or compliment them on their hair. 

Rhodey grinned at Steve, nods in agreement, and then immediately goes stone faced. Which is terrifying to Steve, because the man had been so animated the entire time when talking.

"But you listen to me, Captain. You do anything to him, anything that isn't completely one-hundred-percent All-American, and I will end you. Superhero or not, nobody messes with Tony Stark and gets away with it when I'm around." Rhodey then smiles like he didn't just threaten a national icon and starts on the new topic of how to approach Tony when he gets drunk and starts propositioning lamps. Which happens fairly often, with the way Rhodey waxes poetically on the subject.

Steve doesn’t know if he should feel proud that Tony has someone like this looking out for him, or terrified that one day Rhodey will team up with Pepper and take him down for forgetting Tony’s favorite color.

\---


	3. In Which There Are Dates

Thus Steve Rogers begins his assigned mission of wooing multi-billionaire Tony Stark.

He refuses to think of the thick folder given to him by Pepper last night, filled with random tidbits about Tony (he likes the taste of orange juice after brushing his teeth, and sometimes watches videos of cats playing piano during board meetings). Steve also tries to forget the moment when Tony had bent over to find something in the chassis of his classic Jaguar. He hadn't been looking, hadn't planned on looking, except a jab in the ribs from Rhodey and a meaningful wink was enough to make him look up then blush and almost choke on his tongue. 

He isn't sure when grimy sweatpants became a turn-on, but he’s okay with that. It’s the future. When in Rome, and all that jazz.

Then again, Steve thinks it might have been easier without help from Tony's guardian angels.

When Pepper gives the suggestion of taking Tony to the beach in Miami, Steve trusts her. Even lets her herd him into the private company jet when she needs to hide him from Tony, who is traveling down using a different plane, simply because he figures that since she is now the CEO, and knows Tony, that she would never give him a bad date idea.

It goes horribly, and he should have expected it because it’s _Tony_. 

Tony rubbing sunscreen on his back was a great start ( _It's to prevent sunburn. You're really pale, Cap. Now stop squirming and spin around, I need to do your chest._ ), and walking on the beach in the warm sun and sand is another perk of the date. Steve grabs Tony's hand, ignoring the paparazzi that are stalking behind them, and knows he grins like an idiot when Tony doesn't pull away and actually gives a shy grin up over his sunglasses. As if he was maybe thinking of giving this thing a chance.

The fact that Tony is the owner of some sort of European swimsuit that looks more like tight underwear than the floppy swim shorts Steve is wearing is the cherry on top of the destination date. 

Then, suddenly, there are girls in small bikinis that cover too little and who flirt too much, especially once they realize that multi-billionaire Tony Stark is only a couple feet away with a very handsome blond companion. A two-for-one deal. There goes an hour of the date ducking behind gazeboes, tiki stands, and hiding behind extremely large people beached on the sand sunning to avoid hands that should not be that close to Tony when he is not fully clothed. Especially in front of Steve, who is watching the date crash and burn. 

Tony wants ice cream and licks it shamelessly once he gets it, all while trying not to grin at Steve's blush. This leads to a gleaming beach bodybuilder coming over to try and seduce him away from Steve, because in the past a visible, seducing Tony Stark was a Tony Stark available for everyone. Like an open buffet. The man doesn't even finish his pickup line, "You'd be tall enough to give me a kiss standing on your wallet, so jump on up and give me a try", before his speedos are yanked open and the rest of Tony's frozen treat melts somewhere less fun. Steve grabs Tony for a different reason and drags him away when the bodybuilder's friends start making comments on how he should 'kiss it better' since he's the right height for it.

They're still holding hands when they get back on the jet, returning to New York on the same plane instead of separately like they came. Steve decides to not tell Tony, who is still ranting about his height and baby-oil assholes hitting on him, and instead spends the flight looking down at their linked fingers.

\---

Rhodey thinks Tony should be okay with a date closer to home, a date that involves more clothes, less sun, and more couches. All things that Tony has had good experiences with, Rhodey reasons, since he wears clothes most of the time, is always in his garage, thus never sees the sun, and he occasionally sleeps on couches when he passes out. His logic is impeccable and Steve agrees that maybe this is a better way of getting Tony to realize they're "dating-dating" and not just "dating".

He doesn't see why this is important, since dating is dating in his book, but Jim makes quotation marks with his fingers around the words so he lets it drop.

When Steve brings up watching a movie to Tony, mentions he has never seen Star Wars (Rhodey specifically told him to say this with wide gesturing arms and Pepper giving the ‘thumbs-up’ in the background), he is rewarded with an email the next morning from Pepper saying that Tony’s Friday night and weekend are completely free and he’d love to spend time with him. There is a post-scriptum that says Tony has been sulking in the R&D offices and scaring the interns, and this date will be good for him since it'll remind him that the dark side of the force will never win. The post-post-scriptum that pops up a few minutes later is from Tony, who has obviously been hacking the emails again, and simply states "Soon, my young Padawan".

Steve doesn't know if this is flirtatious or threatening, so he moves the email into a folder Natasha had labeled for him as "Look into later/Ask Mr. Google/Is it just Tony or the future?"

Getting the rest of the Avengers out of the living room for his date is fairly easy. Natasha is already planning on going on a super-secret-awesome mission that Fury assigned her in passing when he saw her looking at the stapler weird. Fury's way of dealing with the Russian spy is to keep her busy because idle hands are the devil's playground. And Natasha would be the bully on that playground ruling it with an iron fist. So she was throughly occupied from Friday onward. 

Thor went running down the street, swinging his hammer in excitement, when Steve mentions offhand that there is a dog show down the street, and maybe he could see a really big dog, and maybe he could even pet them, and maybe if he stayed away from the living room for 24-hours that he could get a puppy. 

Bruce…Steve just tells Bruce to stay in his lab and he'll buy him a radiation symbol bumper sticker. Bruce shrugs and goes back to calculating the angstroms between his wavelengths. He has better things to do with his time than watch movies, and he giggles like a five-year-old girl whenever he sees Steve and Tony snuggle for some reason. So it’s for the best he isn’t around.

The only one who raises a token protest is Clint, who complains about the living room on the other side of the house being too hot. “I’m a delicate flower!” He announced sulkily from the couch, where he held one of the cushions in a death grip against his chest and continued to watch cartoons on the television even after Steve asked him to leave politely. “I can’t handle extreme temperatures! I’ll wilt!”

A quick call on his cellphone and Steve arranges for Coulson to come pickup his charge so Barton can complete some extra desert training simulations. He only does it because he is a concerned team leader who wants to best for those he has to command. If Clint was going to perform at less than his best on a mission because he couldn't stand the heat, well, Steve was only doing this for his own good.

He easily ignores the pout from Clint as the archer is pulled from the couch by his feet and dragged out the room by a certain SHIELD agent/babysitter.

With the room empty and Tony due to arrive in a half hour, Steve felt himself relax. This date was going to go perfect and Tony would finally start taking things seriously. Start taking them seriously. Nothing could go wrong.

Five minutes after the agreed upon time, six-thirty to account for traffic in the city and it being Friday, and Steve isn't worried. Stuff happens. Maybe Tony was held back to sign forms, or yell at someone about a poorly designed circuit board. At fifteen minutes, the popcorn has gotten a little cold and the Blu-ray symbol is bouncing around the screen in standby mode. Forty minutes past the start of the “date” and the couch still has only one person sitting on it. 

Steve is halfway through the first movie that is technically the forth movie according to the title, fully absorbed in the effects and the aliens and the lasers and _space_ , when he hears the front door open and the muted sounds of footsteps on plush carpeting.

For a moment Tony stands in the doorway, wrinkled suit and confused expression highlighted by the hall light before he sighs heavily and his shoulders slump in disappointment at his own actions. “It was tonight?” He croaks with a throat abused by a day filled with arguing, cajoling, and flat out yelling at others, maybe remembering to rehydrate with quick sips of cold, stale coffee between various meetings.

“It is Friday.” Steve takes another quick glance from the movie action to catch the lost expression flitting across Tony’s face and he just knows the other man hasn’t been sleeping and probably still thinks it is Wednesday. “Come here, Tony. You can explain to me what Chewbacca’s supposed to be.”

A brief shuffle and the shorter man has a controlled fall facedown onto the couch at an angle from Steve, head shoved in the corner of the cushions and feet still brushing the ground. Without a thought, Steve leans forward to grab the still shod feet and swings them onto his lap so Tony was actually laying on the furniture and not half falling off. 

Steve looks down at the sleek pair of shoes in his lap, pitch black and reflecting the television scenes lightly on their surface. They seemed like the normal, albeit extremely expensive, shoes that every businessman in New York City wore every day, but he knows they’re something much more for Tony. Curiosity aroused, because nothing like this was around during the war, Steve pulls off one shoe and drops it to the ground, taking note of the plain black socks with the gold toe as an afterthought.

The second shoe is taken off slower; blue eyes deciding to watch Tony’s other foot emerge from its cramped prison rather than the movie. Tony is usually on his feet for a minimum of twenty hours a time, even more if going straight from the board room to his garage, and Steve didn’t want to consider the punishment the size 10 feet are forced to undergo every day. 

Tony arched up slightly so he could look over his shoulder warily, watching with a tight mouth and guarded eyes as Steve poked his fingers inside the shoe to discover the lifted base. The reason for Tony’s height and one of his most savagely guarded secrets behind Iron Man's schematics and the people he loves. 

Steve drags his hand carefully over one foot, relieved when Tony’s tension drops slightly at the motion, and then lets the other shoe slip carelessly from his hand to fall next to its mate on the carpet. 

Ignoring the footwear, Steve allows his hands to wander over the parts of Tony’s body that most likely never see the light of day; always trapped in stupid shoes that Tony didn’t need to make him the biggest person in the room.

“I like you better without them.” Steve explained simply at Tony’s frown, rubbing his thumb over the abused insole in front of him, prompting Tony to groan and flop back against the couch for an impromptu foot-massage-date while Luke Skywalker finally believed in the Force and took down the Death Star.

\---

Then Happy enters the picture of 'Helping Captain America get down The Boss's pants' and it all goes downhill from there.

Actually, Happy's suggestion of taking Tony to the annual New York International Auto Show goes off without a hitch. Kinda. Sure, he doesn't know what half the car models are called, or why there seems to be an abundance of the colors silver, red and yellow, but it makes Tony happy. At least until a random new company makes a loud comment on how their car is so roomy, yet compact, it could hold someone of Steve's size yet still be driven comfortably by someone Tony's size. Tony retaliates by purchasing the spokesman's company and firing him on the spot.

Steve decides to chalk it up as a tentative win, and even though he appreciates the help, he nixes Happy's other suggestion of going to a greased-pig wrestling match.

\----

It has been three days since the last failed date. The date that happened at the zoo. The petting zoo. Where Steve felt like a Disney princess because every animal had followed him around even after he gave away all his 25-cent food pellets and Tony had been attacked by a small goat and then corned by a ruthless gang of ducklings.

The pictures were still being posted on the internet, and if Steve changed his phone's background to the picture of Tony petting a pony and grinning wildly in amazement nobody had to know.

Over the past couple of dates, Steve had started to think that Pepper was not the greatest at giving dating advice. Of course, she was a little distracted juggling running the company, trying to find Tony when he ran away, and making sure her expensive heels didn't get scuffs. Also, she had started dating Happy Hogan, which could account for some of the odder date ideas, like going to a hotdog eating contest (Tony might have liked it if he didn’t try to participate and then was throwing up for three hours afterwards) or the monster truck rally (Steve didn't understand why you had to crush perfectly good cars with other cars and Tony had cried when they totaled a classic because it was old).

He was thinking of asking Rhodes for another idea, except the man was almost impossible to get a hold of nowadays. He is constantly flitting between secret government bases working on drills with his War Machine armor, or giving lectures to new recruits about how the world is a crazy place. More often than not, Rhodey was too busy being smothered by Tony, who now clung to him like a second skin whenever he walked through the door to visit. Even Steve knows it is a bad idea to ask where to take someone out for a date when the person you are trying to date is right there, snuggling into the back of the person you're asking advice from.

Steve knows Tony and the lieutenant colonel had been friends for years, probably decades, before he was un-frozen and talked into leading the Avengers team by Fury. Besides, he knew that Rhodey was the only person that Tony was completely comfortable with, simply because he hadn’t gone and messed it up by sleeping with Rhodey or forcing the other man to become a business partner/take over Stark Industries. 

It is slightly worrying for him to walk in after a stressful charity ball to find Tony sleeping on Rhodey's chest, clutching at his chest and drooling, while the other man eats popcorn and watches 'Top Gun' as if this was normal Tony behavior. Rhodey shoots him a look that says he didn’t plan this, that it’s just Tony, but the super soldier still feels like he is caught in a Lifetime movie and Tony is cheating on him with an oblivious Rhodey. Next thing he knows the plot will thicken when a forbidden love of Tony’s from the past makes her presence known and tries to seduce Steve in a harebrained scheme to get Tony’s billions. 

The truth of the matter is, Steve really wants is to be trusted enough to be Tony's pillow after a stressful day. To hold him close and make sure he’s still here unlike everyone else Steve once loved, except Tony has been avoiding the couch ever since he found out that Steve can stretch from end to end easily and Tony can barely cover three-quarters. Also, Tony still stiffens in indignation when Steve goes in for a hug and the dark-haired man almost brushes his chin. 

So Steve just bides his time and waits for Rhodey to help him try and make Tony understand that he doesn’t care about how tall he is; that it’s just a number.

But Rhodey, no matter all his helpful advice and secret information he passes along, doesn’t seem quite ready to give up Tony either.

Every time Steve takes Tony out on a date, even just a cup of coffee, Jim will sit on the couch right next to the front door and polish a working gauntlet from the War Machine armor. Steve feels like he is taking a teenage girl out to her first dance and Rhodey is the over protective father who wants "the sunshine of his life" to come back exactly at 9pm, untouched and still virginal. Tony makes it worse by flouncing over to ask for a good luck kiss on the cheek before each date, which Rhodey does with a self-suffering sigh since it will make Tony shut up and leave faster, but Steve can see the dark pair of eyes looking over Tony’s shoulder pinpointing where all the super soldier’s vital organs are in case he does something to break Tony's fragile heart.

So it is a surprise to Steve when his phone lights up with a text message in the middle of the day from Rhodes telling him to pick up Tony, he's ridiculous, and he can no longer take the hugging.

In actuality, the text reads:

_'go2 brdway, tony had lecture @ columbia. escappd in crwd. feed him + tel him im angre >:('_

Steve figures it has something with Tony being an idiot, so he heads to Manhattan in hopes of finding the rogue billionaire who is most likely posing with the Abercrombie & Fitch models, or flirting with the lead actress of a new musical. He even toys with the idea of Tony reprogramming the LIRR, simply because he can, but writes it off as soon as he thinks of it because he knows Tony would be distracted by the coin return machines as soon as he got underground.

He does not expect to find Tony in the middle of Times Square, sitting on the ground surrounded by a huge pack of dogs underneath a sign that says "KISSING BOOTH, $1".

"Steve, Stev-" Tony is cut off as a dog leaps at his face and starts licking, pushing him to the ground and causing him to laugh as another dog, a little smaller than the first, jumps in to help give out affection. "Steve this is the greatest! I give them a dollar and I get kisses!" With a strangled yelp, Tony falls over again when a big black dog pushes the others out of the way to sprawl across the man's chest.

Steve thinks of opening the cage encircling the impromptu fluff session, because he really didn't think it was healthy for a man of Tony's age to be manhandled by a rambunctious group of animals, but pauses when Tony lets out another bark of laughter as a different dog tries to climb on top of the black one. Maybe he should let Tony have a little more fun before he drags him off for food and a talk-down from Rhodey. 

"Is he your friend?"

Steve looks over at the short blonde woman who is now standing next to him, a 'Peace Love and Pit bulls' shirt proclaiming the cause she was working for. Throughout the rest of the square were various other charity tables, out in the open to try and convince people to donate money, their time, or just an eager ear. It seemed like this was the only charity that had brought examples of who they were trying to help. It was no surprise that Tony found the one charity that had the highest percentage of causing damage if something went wrong.

"Yeah. Tony's my friend." Blue eyes track the man who is now rolling on the ground that is probably covered by diseases and other unsavory things associated with New York, steamrolling dogs and making them jump over his moving body. "Unfortunately." He sighs when Tony hits the cage wall and is promptly swarmed by warm, furry bodies.

The woman smiles, “I just wanted to thank you, then, because he refused to listen to me earlier." At Steve's look she continues and shrugs to try and hide the brightness of her eyes, "He donated two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars to us. Said it was a tax write-off." She twists her hair around a finger before leaning in conspiratorially, shoots a glance at the other volunteers from her group, "I didn't really believe him when he said that, you know. I am pretty sure he did it so he could play with the dogs; just don't tell him I figured him out, okay?"

Without a backward glance the blonde walks back to the table covered with information sheets and pamphlets, leaving Steve to wonder if all animal volunteers are this knowledgeable about billionaire playboys. Or if Tony acts enough like a wounded, panicked animal that they know to use soft voices and give him small pieces of cheese when he comes out of the garage like a good boy.

Steve is still watching her, toying with the idea of maybe adopting a dog if it means Tony will stop complaining about being the shortest in the mansion, when a grunt from behind alerts him of trouble.

"Steve. Steeeeeeve. Come help me up. Rhodey told me you would take care of me when we started dating and you're doing a shoddy job. I'll have to call him up and tell him about your failed wooing." 

He turns around and finds Tony lying on his back, panting in the same manner as the canines haphazardly lounging on the ground near him. Rolling his eyes, of course Rhodey would think this was some type of pseudo-date because it didn't involve tainting Tony's chastity in any way; Steve leans on top of the wire enclosure and looks down at the man who he has hopelessly fallen for.

"Tony. Rhodey said you were at Columbia? How'd you get down here?"

"I like pit bulls." Tony says petulantly, sitting up just so he could lean back against one of the dogs, "And they're so boring at Columbia. They were talking about a new material that goes from BCC to FCC with heat bursts, but it wasn't in testing yet, and they wanted to see if I would fund it, and the lead got angry because I shot a gun at the experiment, but it was okay because the material absorbed the shock and the surface area increased, which I thought was the point-"

Steve interrupts abruptly, making one of the dogs jump, "Tony, you had a gun?” He makes a quick scan of Tony and feels the tension he didn’t know was there break when he doesn’t spot any injuries or a bulge that might be a concealed weapon.

"Well, yeah. I mean it wasn’t mine, I don’t carry guns anymore ever since I got back, you know the whole Iron Man thing, but they had one for testing, and I’m a pretty good shot, plus their postdoc is a total dick,” Tony tries to roll his eyes but it’s hard when his eyes are squinted from smiling in amusement at the two dogs who are both trying to fit in his lap. “He didn’t even know who I was. Said I was too short to be someone as important as Tony Stark.”

“Tony…” Steve looks down at the man sitting on the sidewalk in a suit that costs more than what some people make in three months, and thinks of a simpler time when he thought Tony was an egomaniac who didn’t want help. 

“What, Cap? Going to lecture me? I needed to show the kid how it’s done. Shot a couple of perfect rounds in their material to test it.” An ugly expression spreads across Tony’s face like a mask, and Steve is reminded that Tony once had a less than savory life prior to the arc reactor. “Carry a big enough gun, and have good enough aim, and everyone is too afraid to point out your shortcomings.” 

He turns his head to avoid Steve’s searching eyes, getting a lick on the chin from a scrawny-looking pit bull that still has enough energy for a kiss, “It’s not my fault the kid decided to pick a fight with me without knowing his research funding depended on it.

“So I gave the money to someone who needs it more. Like these guys.” Hands callused with burns and scratches make a swipe down the sides of the happily panting black dog that had once sprawled on his chest.

“I like pit bulls, Steve.” Tony looks up, a little lost, one hand toying with the ear of a different dog, “People think they’re bad, but they can’t help it. They’re trained to be weapons sometimes, kinda like me.” He sighs, “They don’t judge you and they don’t have the opposable thumbs to shoot you in the back, which makes them …nice.”

“Tony, I think you’re nice.” Steve says quietly, wondering if Tony can ever hear him because the city is still bustling loudly around them and it’s hardly noon.

“Yeah, well, a lot of people say that.” Tony grumbles as he stands, giving a lingering pet to a brindle pit bull when it whimpers, “Of course, they say it down their noses, so they probably think I can’t hear them because I’m so much smaller. We should probably get going.” He squints at a clock mounted on a building, “Shit, Rhodey is going to kill me. I better pick him up Mickey D’s. He always liked Big Macs…”

Before he knows what he is doing, Steve has shoved a dollar into the small donation container next to the cage and is dragging Tony a couple inches up from the ground into a sloppy kiss. He has an arm hooked around a back covered in gritty cement particles, his other hand cupping a jaw with a day’s worth of stubble, and the metal cage is pressing into his hip bones as he tugs Tony closer. 

Hands push against his face, covering them in sidewalk grit, dirt and what he hopes is spit, and Steve stops sucking on Tony’s bottom lip to be forced back. A small section of his brain, fueled solely by adrenaline, thinks of this as a tactical retreat to assess the situation so he can change it back to his advantage.

“Steve, what- What’re you doing?” Tony asks, and Steve can’t help but feel proud of the fact that the sunglasses Tony had been wearing perfectly during his dog play party are now crooked on his face and digging into the bridge of his nose.

“It’s a kissing booth.” Steve mumbles against Tony’s lips as he moves closer, lips that are only at the same level as his own because he’s stooping a little to keep the constant contact that he’s been waiting so long for and Tony is balanced on the bottom piece of steel wiring that makes up the cage. “If I put in a dollar, I get kisses, right?” 

Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and tugs him down again in answer.

To tell the truth, the kiss is horrible, and Steve is thankful he has enough experience to know that or else he’d be put off from kissing for the rest of his life. There’s too much teeth, not enough tongue, and Tony tastes a little like badly made dirty martinis and dog drool, but Steve doesn’t care because Tony has stopped looking like he was worth nothing because of his height and is finally looking at Steve like Steve has been looking at him for the past couple of weeks.

“You do know we look ridiculous-“ Tony breaths out after the fifth, sixth, seventh kiss, resting his forehead on Steve’s cheek since it’s the highest part he can reach without falling over from his unstable perch. “Since I’m going to have to use a step ladder to kiss you in the future.”

Steve looks down at Tony, grins when he sees the man is more on a ‘ _my height is keeping me from kissing you_ ’-kick than a ‘ _my height is the reason why this can’t work out_ ’, and leans down for a quick peck that is barely a brush of skin. “As long as you’re here, I’m sure we’ll figure something out. You are one of the top minds in the field of engineering.” Steve continues, deciding it’s easier to just lift Tony out of the dog enclosure than opening the gate and releasing the happy animals loose on Times Square. 

“The mechanics are baffling.” Tony mutters as his feet touch the ground, not even noticing that he had been physically moved because he had been staring at his feet in thinly veiled annoyance. “I can’t wear my shoes all the time, right? And that means six inches of difference.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Steve raises an eyebrow when he looks up and spots paparazzi, and he will never admit to smiling and putting an arm around Tony when he sees the camera lift for a picture. Or glaring at a person who gets a little too close to Tony to take a snapshot with their phone. 

A tug on his jacket has Steve automatically looking down at Tony, wondering what’s wrong now and if he’s going to have try and catch Tony if he makes another run for it.

“Steve, we should go practice.” Tony says seriously, as if presenting a new model to the board of directors. “We need real time data.”

“What?”

“You know. “Practice the mechanics”, yeah?” Steve can hear the quotation marks and wants to die when Tony follows it up with a sultry wink towards the people who are still taking pictures, letting them know he's getting banged by a super soldier tonight. 

The photo of Steve blushing bright red, hiding his face in his hand, and Tony tugging him towards a car with heavily tinted windows makes the front page the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So this can either go two ways:
> 
> 1\. I can write one more chapter, the last one, and it is happy/fluffy/fuzzy joy love sex.
> 
> 2\. OR I can write another chapter, with more angst, and then there will be another chapter after that which will most likely be filled with angry, "Tony you're an idiot"-sexy times.
> 
> It all depends on what you want.


	4. Tony Has Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....Yeah. I wanted to post this sooner. But then I had a conference, then Easter, then job offers I had to handle, and another conference, a couple thesis presentations, some research, more job offers...also I forgot I can't write angst.
> 
> Sorry.

Tony knows he should nip this in the bud, stop it from going any further, but, to tell the truth, it happens without him knowing.  He looks away from one second to repair a car, save the world, make a smoothie, and when he looks back it's just…there.  He didn't think it even could happen (he was pretty sure they hated each other) but then one day he finds himself napping on the couch while cuddled up next to the blond adonis, ignoring Clint who is gagging on his cereal, and the truth becomes startlingly clear.

He might be, according to the internet, kinda, sorta dating Captain America.  

Steve Rogers.  

The all-around nice guy who shouldn't be spending more than five minutes in his presence before hightailing it back to Fury and SHIELD.

That guy.

Tony had never really gone dating before.  He was always more of a fuck first, maybe meet up for coffee later. A, 'Don't call me, I'll call you', type of guy.  Even with Pepper, dating was a scheduled affair.  He would work in the garage, there would be a certain beep from his monitor, and he would look-up to check the screen and see what fantastic place Pepper had picked for him to take her to.  Then he would have thirty minutes to get ready before either Happy or the lucky girlfriend herself made it downstairs to drag him out to the car.  

If he happened to be late, or forget all together, Pepper liked presents (NOT.  STRAWBERRIES _._ ), and she usually forgave him after he bought her an entire season’s wardrobe from one of her favorite designers and donated at least half a million to a ridiculous cause, such as ‘Bras for the Homeless’ or ‘The Classics, Ebonics, and You!”

Pepper decided a long time ago this was better than Tony choosing where they were going on their dates, because that usually involved private jet rides to Paris for dinner and then dessert in Morocco.  Or the date where Tony grabbed her right after she finished at the gym and took her to a five-star restaurant in booty-shorts and a tank top.  Or when he rented out Disney World for their three-month anniversary, and then forced her to ride the Dumbo-ride eight times in a row. 

To tell the truth, it was a good system and Tony really didn't understand why people became horrified when he told them about this arrangement he had with Pepper.  She was happy, and her being happy made Tony happy.  Wasn't that the point of a relationship?  To be happy?  (Happy the feeling, not Happy the chauffeur, but Tony would be lying if he said he never thought of switching lives with his driver, who seemed to see the world in a beatific manner.)

Unfortunately the crushing depression after Pepper breaks up with him, ( _Tony, I just…I can't.  I can't do it anymore.  It's too much, and too little and I just…I'm sorry._ ), is directly proportional to how enamored he was with her.  It's always been that way.  The more he enjoys someone's company, be it dating, or a roll in the hay, or even just talking about resistors and electric fields, the greater the hurt when they finally leave.  Because in the end they always leave; Tony can guarantee it.

So, yeah.  _Dating_.  Not one of Tony's strong points.  Flirting, yes; dating, no.  After being told by one of his publicists that he is officially dating someone, that person being Captain America, Tony automatically winces when the information sinks in forty-five minutes later.

Obviously Steve doesn't understand how quickly the world has degraded into debauchery since he's been frozen, and he still gets confused by the idea of flavored cream cheese, so Tony highly doubts his computer literacy skills have increased enough that he is able to follow multiple online rag magazines and see what they’re saying about him and his late night activities.  

Plus, Tony doesn't want to be the person to break it to him that the American public thinks they are bumping uglies.  For all he knows, Steve would either die from blood loss because of his continuous blushing, or he'd go on a crazy, 40's-mentality, guilt-rampage and by some means find everyone on the internet and force them to apologize to Tony and himself.  

Afterwards he would probably weep at the fall of propriety and human morals while eating a gallon of strawberry ice cream and watching soap operas.

So Tony decides to roll with it.  Take one for the team so the super soldier won't go over the edge.  Tries to be a friend, no homo, even though his neck hurts from constantly looking up at Steve and the reporters have an on-going pool on who takes it up the ass (currently the odds are three-to-one that Tony tops simply because he's most likely to throw a hissy fit if he doesn't).

When Steve starts putting his arm around his shorter shoulders, Tony knows he does it because he gets easily separated from the group due to his size and the mobs of fans that always appear whenever the Avengers wander around the city.  He doesn't do it to appease the lurking paparazzi, and there are no romantic feelings behind it. It's strategic, and Captain America is all over that like a fat kid on cake.  He makes sure Tony keeps close; shoots a glare at Thor when the god heartily suggests that it be his turn to 'protect our most slight in stature comrade!'    

Tony doesn't know if Steve does this because he likes Tony more than Thor, which is doubtful because Thor is almost everyone's favorite (except Coulson, but he won't say who is favorite is), or because whenever Thor tries to help outside of a life-altering battles it ends horribly. (Like the death of Hootie the goldfish, Nick Fury's beloved pet who was given to the Avengers to watch for two days when the man himself had been taken hostage by invading aliens.  Thor tried to feed the small fish a glazed ham.  Fury was not pleased when he returned.)

After a while, it gets tiring trying so hard to be a friend with no reward in sight, even for someone as charismatic as Tony Stark.

On the field, Captain America and Iron Man are flawless, attacking enemies and completing missions as if they had been working together for years.  Outside of the flag-themed suit, Steve is a dopey idiot who puts his foot in his mouth more often than not, talking down his nose to Tony about Howard being a bigger man.  How Howard is one of the best men he knows, and Tony just doesn't understand because he's too busy being a 'genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist'.

Tony wants to be the careless asshole that society sees him as, wants to look straight into Steve's blue, trusting, unguarded, eyes and blandly state, "He's dead.  He can't be one of the best men you know.  He can't even be the worse man I knew, because he's dead and he's thankfully never coming back."  Then he thinks of how lost Steve Rogers had looked when he woke up with no one to greet him, all of them either decaying from old age or buried under the hard ground, and he chokes back the words before they leapt from his lips.

Sometimes he wishes the tabloids were true about them dating just so they could breakup and Tony would have a ready-made excuse to avoid Steve.

But because that's not possible, he grins and bears it when the heavy arm rests against the nape of his neck.  Swallows the scathing words when Steve leads him through the crowds of New York City, though, technically, Tony has lived in them longer than Steve.  

It's not the first time someone has tried to control Tony because he was shorter, thinking he was helpless because of his stature.  Of course, most of the other times he was on his knees and the hand of the other person was tangled in his hair to make sure he didn't move, not guiding him gently between tourists and street performers.  Then again, the feeling of being manipulated doesn't change that much when it's done by a person who doesn't really respect you at the end of the day, be it in the bedroom or in public with thousands of people crushing in from all sides.

He thought Steve would be different, but it's not the first time Tony has been wrong about someone.

\---

Somehow, against all odds, Tony finds himself grudgingly liking the jerk after a couple of months avoiding his clinging arm whenever they go into crowds.  The newspapers are all a flutter, reporting that Steve Rogers has done the unthinkable and melted Tony Stark's cold heart.  SHIELD puts it down in their official files as 'tensions easing between team members due to a mutual agreement'. Pepper thinks Tony has finally pulled his head out of his butt and is starting to behave like the forty-year-old he almost is, rather than the four-year-old he is often mistaken for.

The real reason is much simpler.

Steve gets him his coffee.

The first time it happens, Tony stares at the empty coffee pot for two hours before Clint comes in, starts laughing, and asks why there isn't a new pot started.  Before Tony is able to connect the dots, because at that moment he hasn't had caffeine in almost three hours and he is running slow from lack of sleep, Steve walks in and frowns.  With a condescending pat on his much shorter shoulder, which Tony does not flinch at (he was just surprised), Steve reaches up into a tall, skinny cabinet and pulls down the battered tin filled with beans from Marcala. 

Taking a deep inhale of the un-ground beans, Tony can feel his brain sluggishly firing up again and the first thought it produces is, 'Captain America = Not a dick."

Over time it becomes easier to ignore Clint and his need to drink the last cup of coffee when he knows Tony is dragging himself from the depths of his garage.  Simple to sweep his eyes over the kitchen occupants to see who will give away the tin's location (Bruce has the habit of biting his lip and lifting his eyebrows in the general direction, Coulson simply points with a sigh).  Then it is just the matter of Tony finding Steve and forcing him into the other room to get his coffee beans, because he will not give Clint the satisfaction of seeing him vaulting to get on top of his granite counters that cost way too much. 

Since Steve seems to have not developed the ability to say 'no' to Tony Stark yet (Pepper and Rhodey are, unfortunately, experts, and Fury is not as good as he likes to believe he is), it's fairly simple to wiggle his body in between whatever the super soldier's doing, be it reading the paper, watching television, or sketching.  The one plus of being shorter/smaller/insignificant compared to the other members on the team is that Tony is often seen as an annoying, yappy, toy Pomeranian dog:  You want to kill it, but then it is so foofy and small you just hug it instead and hope it will be quieter in the future while feeding it expensive treats.

For a while it goes all according to plan, Steve will wander into the kitchen and grab the tin from where Clint has stashed it, give a small smile of amusement when Tony promptly grabs it to make liquid ambrosia, then he'll leave and go back to whatever he was doing before Tony interrupted him (though he has been lingering longer and longer after the second step, Tony notes when he sips at his first cup of boiling hot liquid).

Then it changes.  Steve doesn't give Tony the tin.  He holds it over his head, taunting, as if expecting Tony to jump at it like a five-year old.  In the past Tony would have pouted and waited him out, being the mature adult sucked but Tony is able to pull it off every once in a while if the end justifies the means, but the much taller man has been pulling the 'keep-away from Tony'-stunt more and more often.  

Steve obviously does not expect Tony to launch himself at him like a rabid monkey, and then climb him like a banana tree.

And that is the moment that Tony realizes that Steve is built like a tank.  A huge tank of muscled goodness which he should not be thinking of right now because he is pretty sure Steve is insulting his height and refusing him his right to caffeine.  But Tony Stark is nothing but an opportunist, and if he copes a couple feels, snatches a couple gropes when climbing the mountain of muscle known as Captain America, well…it's nothing the newspapers haven't been hinting at.

It's easy to think the heat pooling in his stomach is created from lust, seeing and touching the perfect human body on a fairly recent basis has to have short-circuited his body into responding like Pavlov's dog (his coffee tin gets stolen at least four times a week).  Tony _likes_ thinking that it comes from publicly molesting Captain America, because it makes things simple.  It means the feeling has nothing to do with the goofy smile Steve shoots over his shoulder when he finds the tin, or the hand that grabs at his hip to stabilize him when Tony takes a leap of faith from the kitchen table that was not thought out.

This is not good.  They were _pretend_ not-really-but-sorta-yeah-dating (Steve still hadn't figured out what the rest of America supposedly knew weeks ago from Perez Hilton).  Tony doesn’t want to start liking him because he knows from experience it just gets muddy when feelings get involved, even if they are the simple platonic feelings for a friend/teammate.  And since Steve has no idea what game is being played, he just finds the coffee and pulls Tony close to him when in public as a safety protocol, Tony has a pretty good idea of who is going to be hurt when it all falls apart.

Shit.

\---

Tony knows they're going to die.  It's the Arctic.  The suit is a heap of slag and help is too far away to even garner a passing hope.  They've already been out on the ice, hidden from the wind by a carved out snow drift, for three hours, and Steve's super soldier serum is the only thing that's keeping his teeth chattering.  Tony's body has been too cold to do even that for the past half hour.

They are going to die, and Tony is selfish.

It has been five days.  Five days since Steve stopped talking to him.  Five days since Steve had started leaving the room whenever he entered them.  Five days since Steve had last grinned down at him with his stupid, stupid, smile which Tony doesn't even like that much…but he maybe misses it now that it's gone.

With the opportunity to get one last reaction from Steve before it ends, because the odds for their survival aren't looking that great, Tony takes his chance.

Ignoring the stiff posture, because of course Steve hates him; Tony pulls the arms around his chest and shoves his back into the cage created by Steve's body.  Spouting out nonsense that could pass for scientific theory if he protested enough later, Tony grabs a little firmer at the thick wrists to make sure Steve can't roll away into an ice-covered wall.

For a moment he feels hysteria bubbling up when he realizes that he is the ‘little spoon’ in this snuggle fest, but it passes when the additional heat slowly starts bringing his numb body parts back into agonizing awareness.  Stiffening in pain, because what else can you do when your muscles thaw out and suddenly realize your body temperature is almost fifteen degrees too low?, he almost didn't notice the death-grip Steve had established around his smaller rib cage until he realized that there was too much pain to just be coming from severe-hypothermia.

Without thinking, Tony starts taking deep breaths, hoping Steve will get the message and relax because Tony really doesn't need cracked ribs to be added to the other little injuries he had acquired on this trip.  Like the snapped collarbone.  Or the ripped ankle tendon from when he had to yank his leg out of an uncooperative repulsor boot.  Also the concussion was really ramping up to maybe be something serious if he didn't get it checked soon.

Steve finally loosened his grip, resting his chin on top of Tony's hair, and Tony should be angry.  There was a reason he should be angry, he was sure of it, but his head hurts too much to track down the thought.  He feels like it has to do with Steve, Steve being bigger than him, looming on top of him, and that's something very important to remember, but right now he's warmish, has someone who will probably protect him, and he's really tired.

Tony just wants to sleep, and that's what he does, encased in the arms of someone who doesn't like him but he doesn't really mind because he likes Steve enough for the two of them right now.

\---

Then Rhodey comes home and everything is sunshine and butterflies; unicorns and rainbows.

Nothing hurts anymore because Rhodey knows how to fix things, lots of things, like broken collarbones (Tony kept meaning to get it looked at and forgot between Pepper's smothering and upgrades on the suit).  Rhodey also makes sure that Tony is safe when he's not in the Iron Man armor, or inside of headquarters, or pretty much anywhere that Tony didn't design from the ground up.  Makes sure nobody stabs him in the back when he's there, figuratively and literally, like that one time at Martha Clara Vineyard when a jilted lover had slammed a clam knife into his kidneys.  Rhodey had been on his second tour of duty and he had sounded very upset when Tony had Skype-chatted him later in the day from the ER.

Everyone always asks Rhodey ' _Why?_ '.  Why do you put up with the billionaire, playboy, Tony Stark?  Why do you allow Anthony Stark, New York's tarnished inventor, to hold the chain attached to your collar?  Mr. Rhodes, I mean Lt. Colonel Rhodes, why do you always come back to Mr. Stark?  Why don't you just leave and find greener pastures, find someone who respects you for the soldier you are?

Rhodey could easily explain to them why, Tony is sure, since it has to do when they were in kindergarten and the bullies had picked on both of them; Tony for being too smart and Rhodey for being the wrong color.  They banded together as blood brothers, caused hell, and had the highest teacher-transfer rates in the whole state, which Tony is still proud of to this day.  

Their relationship continued after that incident with Tony protecting Rhodey, because kids are dicks and Rhodey was too small to defend himself at the time.  Then Rhodey got bigger in second grade, but instead of leaving Tony, like all the other kids once they found out he was too smart and saw too much and wouldn't stop talking, he stuck around because, "That's what friends do.  And you're short!  You need my help, Tony, or you'll get eaten by a dinosaur or something and who'll help me with math then?" 

But instead of explaining, Rhodey always says, "No comment", scowling at the cameras and placing his heavy, steady arm across Tony's slumped shoulders.  Steering them easily through the sharks known as the press, he usually spits out curse words and _"Tony, you're an idiot, I shouldn't have to do this on my day off"_ , while leading them to the open car door, Happy, and safety.  

Then there are more hugs, hands running across his back as a form of reassurance, tilting his head to check his eyes for another concussion, whispers of, _"Tony, it's fine.  You did what you could.  Ignore them, they're just trying' to get to you.  They don't understand.  Take off your shoes, I don't know why you wear them all the time.  Let's go for Chinese food and you can tell me what trouble you've gotten yourself into this time, you asshole."_

Tony doesn't know if he says this enough, or if people haven't been taking notes, but he'll say it again:

Rhodey.  Is.  The.  _Best_.

And Steve doesn't seem to like him.

This in and of itself is…odd.  Steve likes everyone; the new SHIELD intern named Kozakiewicz, who always forgets his lunch, the cranky lady a block over who smells like cats but sells the best fruit in the city.  Hell, Steve even likes Coulson, which Tony thinks is disappointing but he never points it out because he doesn't want to be tazed.

So Steve not automatically jumping up to shake Rhodey's hand, accepting him to his American flag-covered bosom, rubs Tony the wrong way.

Rhodey is important.  The most important thing to him after the Iron Man armor, and having Steve slight him in any way is an attack against Tony himself.  He doesn't care if someone comments on his height, or his playboy ways with the men and women who often surround him, but if they say anything bad about Rhodey…Corporations and business empires have been bought and destroyed in the name of James Rhodes.

They go have pizza, because Rhodey loves pizza, and Tony really doesn't want to be alone with Steve at this moment.  He might do something bad, and he really doesn't want the headlines to start speculating on a messy breakup right after they'd finally cooled off about his "relationship" with Steve.  They'd probably say Tony left Steve to go out with Rhodey, and though he saw nothing wrong with that, Tony knows Rhodey would blush and stammer, and then not hang out with him until it died down.  And a couple of days without Rhodey, when he's readily available and not being used by the government, is unacceptable in Tony's book.

Later on, after Steve has excused himself so he can return to SHIELD and save the world by being polite, Rhodey allows himself to be dragged over to the living room by Tony.

"I read a newspaper, said you were seeing Captain 'Merica in a more than platonic setting…Do you know what you're doing, Tony?"  Rhodey asks, eyes tracking the movie on the muted television, one arm stretched over the back of the couch and feet propped up on the glass center table. 

"No."

A sigh.  "You never do."  Another pause, "Is this something you want?  If not, just say the word, Tony, and I'll make sure the rumors are just that.  Make sure the glorified Boy Scout leaves you alone."  

Tony lets the silence creep on, relaxing for the first time in what feels like years because he knows that he's safe.  That Rhodey's back and nothing can go wrong because Rhodey won't let anything hurt Tony.  

"Even if I want something, that doesn't always mean that I should have it."  The quiet words were directed at the ceiling, Tony sprawled on the other half of the furniture with his head balanced on Rhodey's hip.

"Perhaps.  But you're usually the worst judge of what you deserve."  Rhodey observed after a quiet, thoughtful noise, hand rubbing through Tony's hair in the way he liked, not a lot of pressure but coupled with the pleasant scratch of nails against his scalp.

Tony was happy Rhodey was home.

\---

Then comes the day when Tony realizes that he is dating Captain America.

For realsies.  Not for fakesies.

It was something stupid: visit Columbia for a consulting visit and see what their up-and-coming scientists had going on in the materials department.  Maybe go to lunch with Rhodey, because he's been missing him since he's being forced to spend more time with Steve.  Not that he doesn't like Steve, especially since he's no longer being standoffish with Rhodey, but he's always towering.  Looming in the background.  Kinda sulking.  Filled with righteous American propaganda 24-7, and Tony doesn't mind paying more attention to him but he just wants to spend time with his best friend on the couch eating cheese-doodles and nachos.

Then a stupid postdoc had mouthed off, and Rhodey had made a comment about "Stringing along Steve, you have to make a decision, Tony you can't keep doing this-", and Tony suddenly found himself in Times Square giving a large chunk of Columbia's research money to the first person he saw.  Who just happened to be a volunteer for a rescue foundation, and she led him over to the pamphlet-stocked table, introduced him to the other volunteers before leading him over to the purpose of their volunteering.

Dogs.

Tony tried to stay away, because his suit is worth at least ten-grand (he thinks) and he really shouldn't because Pepper will kill him when she finds out, but the woman insists, and that is how he finds himself getting a kiss for every dollar he donated.  It's nice, not having to worry about his outward appearances because dogs don't care who you are, where you need to be, who you should love.  They just want kisses and a scratch every once in a while, and Tony wished for that simplicity for a moment when a pit bull butts its head into his stomach so he won't stop rubbing its spine.

He looked up sometime after his hands have been thoroughly covered with sidewalk grit and sees Steve grinning and leaning against the flimsy cage wall, and he can’t breathe because of the sudden smack of happiness.  Not as happy as when he first flew in the armor and he was truly free, nothing could make him that happy, but closer to the contact high he gets from Rhodey when Tony lets him takes out the Maserati for a joy ride.

Then Steve kisses him, badly, in the middle of Times Square, and Tony knows that this type of happiness is not good because it means they're actually going out, that all those past dates and rendezvous were real, and it's going to hurt.

Tony thinks back on all his relationships and how they ended once he became happy.  Remembers how love and affection suddenly would turn into greed or rejection once he let it slip that his happiness is now reliant on the other person.  The results are never in his favor:

Elizabeth, a bouncy RA in his last year of MIT, who wasn't afraid of cuddling and didn't mind that Tony was too smart for his own good.  The deep scar she left on his chin, a backhand with the two-carat ring he had bought her before he had found out she was cheating, was part of the reason why Tony started growing a goatee.

Natalie, who was really Natasha, who was really Black Widow, who is now his teammate, who served him up to SHIELD so that her mission could be complete without a backward glance.  He still flinched if she made a sudden movement near him, but he's getting better now that he can wear the armor when around her.

Ty, who taught Tony how to deep-throat like a pro at fourteen years old.  Who was there to support Tony when his parents died and Rhodey was out of the country fighting in a war he didn't believe in.  Ty (Tiberius, he has to think of him as Tiberius now); Tiberius, who threw Tony to the wolves when the newspapers started questioning their relationship.  Saying that Tony had seduced him and that he wasn't gay, especially not for someone as flawed as Tony Stark.

There were countless others, but those are the few that Tony can pull up with blazing clarity in the few seconds he has to spare as he drags Steve to the car waiting at the curb; smiling at the cameras while he shoots off his mouth to Steve just to see him blush.

This is not good.  Steve shouldn't be so happy, he doesn't know any better, and Tony hates that he has to be the teacher in this game.  To show Steve that it isn't right that he's with Tony.

So he responds to his suddenly real relationship the way he did with all his fake ones:  With the mask he crafted ever so carefully the minute he stepped into the limelight with his parents and heard the first mutters of his height making him less of a person.

A flirtatious look from underneath his eyelashes, the same one that got him in the bed of the Spanish ambassador's daughter so many years ago, coupled with a pout (that had sealed a merger last month), and Steve becomes putty in his hands like so many before him.

A few moments later and Tony has him right where he wants him, against the wall of his garage, panting and looking like he just ran a marathon.

"Aren't we go-going a little fast?"  Steve managed to say, hands scrambling for purchase on the wall as if afraid to touch the beast Tony has turned into.

Tony hummed, digits already busy fiddling with the belt buckle in front of him, "Ah, Steve, that implies you're participating."  He shot a glance over his sunglasses, which he forgotten to take off, and he couldn't help feeling proud of how wrecked the blond looked, and he hadn't really even touched him yet.  "But, as I said before, practicing.  Me, not you.  I don't think you've even done this before, and you can't practice something if you've never done it."

Ignoring the jarring thud of his knees when he hit the ground, Tony drummed his fingers momentarily on the small button before releasing it and tugging the zipper down.  He slid his thumbs into the jean waistband and pulled down slowly, willing to take his time if Steve would keep making those breathy mumbles, as if he was trying to say words.

It was cute.  Soldier boy wanted to try and stay coherent during fun time.

Nudging at the back of Steve's legs to make him shift so he was lower and Tony was closer to the main goal, he kept sliding the harsh material lower until the pale, smooth skin over Steve's hips were visible.  "You aren't wearing-?  Really, Cap?"  He cocked an eyebrow in badly suppressed mirth.

"G-got used to it."  Steve's Adam's apple bobbed rapidly, staring up at the ceiling with a bright red face, "T-t-the uniform…"  He stiffed when Tony pushed the tight material down further, nose nudging against the half-hard member coupled with a rub of his goatee.

"Well, you're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Tony allowed his hands to explore, to run over the shaft, feeling his callouses catch on the smooth skin as he gauged the weight and length.  Not too shabby, compared to the other dick's shoved in his face in the past.  He gave a customary squeeze and tried not to leer when Steve gave a choked back yelp.

Of course Captain America was uncut, Tony mused silently, glancing at the cock in question again before rubbing the pad of his thumb thoughtfully against the slightly loose skin to draw another groan from Steve.

"Tony, I- _Tony_ -"

"Ah, ah, ah, no speaking!"  Tony grinned up from his kneeling position at the straining mass of muscle, trying not to smile at the clenched teeth and huffs of breaths coming out in staccato bursts through flared nostrils.  His thumbs moved in small circles against the skin of the tensed thighs, trying to relax Steve but also to remember the feel of the muscles beneath his hands. 

Then, before Steve could make another token protest, another murmur, Tony took him in all the way because he could.  Because he's a pro at this, being used.

Ignoring his gag reflex, because nobody likes that, he swallowed lightly against the pressure at the back of his throat and tried not to grin at the shudder that went through Steve.  Tony let it slide over his tongue, the weight and heat somehow better than he thought it could be, and gave a cursory suck when he reached the tip.

Steve's hips twitched, jerking his cock free to wipe a thin trail of liquid against Tony's chin, "Impatient,"  Tony muttered and ran his tongue from the base of Steve's dick, slowly up the shaft, in petty retaliation.   

A shaking pair of hands finally moved from the wall to thread their way through Tony's slightly greasy hair (he had forgotten to shower after the doggy-love fest), but didn't tug or try to take control, as if Steve just needed to find something else to do with his hands if the shaking was anything to go by.

Tony breathed warmly on Steve's dick, ignoring the answering twitch his own cock gave in response, and wrapped his lips once more around the head.  With a gentle moan, because Tony really needed to patent this dick because it was perfect, he took half of it in his mouth and allowed his hands to come up and stroke the rest, one brushing teasingly against the ball sack that was looking tighter and tighter with each passing lick.  

Just when the pain in his jaw was becoming unbearable (he was getting way too old for this, on the concrete floor and with no bed in sight, Jesus), Steve's body tensed and jerked once, twice, and he finally came with a gurgled shout.  Semen splashed against the back of Tony's throat (like it always did), and he swallowed the load like he had been doing it all his life (which he had been).

Tony easily ignored the taste of bitter cum. The sudden feeling of seriously fucking up is harder to brush off.

Sliding down to land on his ass, and with Tony on his knees leaning into Captain America's personal space, they were almost the same height.   "Do you need…?"  Steve was a mess, but the fact that he tried to help even when slumped against the wall with his jeans still tight around his calves was simply precious. 

Tony grinned into the neck in front of him, tongue tracing the path of a trickle of sweat, before answering, "Nah, I'm fine.  Nothing I can't finish upstairs with a shower."  He swallowed back the guilt that suddenly surfaced when he glanced out the corner of his eye and saw the content smile over America's golden boy.

Poor kid.

He pulled off his sunglasses and slipped them over Steve's eyes because he really didn't want to see the blissed out, glazed look that was probably present in the taller man's eyes.  Knowing it was only put there because Tony was a horrible person who didn't know how to take care of thing's he loved.  Standing and ignoring the click of his knees, it's what he got for being the older and wiser of the two, he made his way upstairs to a much needed shower.

Steve shouldn't be a problem anymore.  The newspapers will find another couple to annoy, and Tony doesn't need to worry about hurting Steve because it's over.  He got what he wanted, because Captain America could never want a _real_ relationship with Tony Stark.

So when Steve showed up the next day, still blushing (which Tony now knows stops at around his bellybutton as a pale pink) and asking Tony if he wants to go to dinner, Tony doesn't know what to do.

This was supposed to drive Steve away, make him realize that Tony was trouble and was sexually promiscuous (playboy, you're a playboy, his thoughts whispered to him amusingly).  Not make Steve think that what they have is serious.  That what they have might work out for the better.  That what they have might be… _long term._

So Tony increases his deviousness.  Gropes Steve in public.  Forces him against the wall while in the Iron Man armor and shoves his tongue down Steve's throat between missions.  Ruins Steve's early routine by jumping him before he's fully woken up to help with his morning wood, which then leads to Steve being late when he retaliates.  Does everything in his usual sex arsenal that either causes his significant other to leave from disgust or boredom.

But Steve just keeps coming back, looking happier every time.  As if this is what he wanted.  Like he _wanted_ Tony, which is ridiculous.

Tony has to stop this.  Now.  Before it gets further and Steve gets hurt, and Steve can't get hurt because then they can't be friends.  And if they can't be friends, he'll have to quit the Avengers because he can only look at one failure a day, and the one he sees in the mirror is quite enough.

This is a stupid idea, Tony thought to himself as he walked to take a chair behind the table next to Rhodey, who is trying to look supportive but is really staring at Tony in disbelief because he knows what he's doing.  Waving in a cock-sure way at the camera flashes and the reporters already yelling out questions.  Ignoring the heavy pain that is already forming somewhere behind and to the side of the arc reactor.  

Trying to forget the way Steve looked this morning, rumpled and pink, after falling back into bed when Tony complained about him leaving to go jog and convinced him into having quick roll in the hay.  Changed his mind, and now he wants to remember that moment, because he has always known that it was going to end, that nothing he wants ever lasts.

Breathing becomes easier when he thinks of how Steve will thank him afterwards, because relationships are all about putting the other person first, making them happy.  Even if the thing that makes one half of the partnership thrive will kill the other.

It is a really, really stupid idea.

But for Tony Stark that is the norm.  

\---


	5. The Truth Comes Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that. I had to finish my graduate school, then had to get a job, then moved across two states with two cats, then had to get settled into my extremely lucrative engineering job that is in NYC but has a crazy long commute. Which means I haven't really had an awful lot of time to write...
> 
> This has been kinda hard to get to, so I post this in hopes that someone reads it. T_T

_- Stark Stalls Romance?: Playboy calls off relationship in national televised covera-_

"Captain."

_-In a move that harkens back to his younger, more aggressive days, Tony Stark publicly announces his separation from Captain America, otherwise known as Steven Rog-_

"Captain."

- _"It was nothing.  I’ve decided that it’s for the best for the Captain and I if I end-_

"Captain?"

_-ding the relationship is simple when the media has made most of it up", Mr. Stark said in response to a question voiced by Viviann-_

"Steve _._ "

- _“It’s over. Nothing more to be said. Now, I’ve got things way more important than all of you to be getting to.  Forward all calls to my wonderful CEO, Ms. Pepper Potts, as per usual.  Ciao.”  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how billio-_

" _Steve_."

It's not the concerned voice that brings him back to the present, but the scalding liquid trickling onto his leg. 

Looking up at Natasha instead of inspecting the growing throb of pain near his knee, Steve wonders why she’s staring at the tabletop after she tried so hard to get his attention.  It doesn’t make sense, because all he has is the newspaper in one hand, from the couple he picks up every morning, and his usual cup of hot chocolate, which tastes the same no matter what century he was in.  Same thing he has every day, nothing special that should draw her attention from her oatmeal.

Except his mug has somehow managed to explode, making his hand a bloody mess, and causing liquid to spread in a puddle across the tablecloth.  Funny how he missed that happening, so caught up in reading the fourth newspaper that was completely enthralled with the breakup of Captain America and playboy Tony Stark. 

It must have been a slow week, he mused silently, eyes tracing the colored headshot of Tony that was grinning from the front page.

"Steve, are you okay?"  Natasha asks slowly, lips thinning into a straight line immediately after she voices the question.  As if she knew that Steve is not okay, will not be okay until he finds out what happened and what went wrong.  It was going so well.  He thought Tony was warming up to it, that Tony was getting better with being a couple, that…that they were going to work out.

"I'm fine." 

It's better to ignore it right now.  Now is not the time to think about this.  Thinking too much about something like this is not good, especially since he hasn't heard it from the horse's mouth, so to speak.  Maybe it was something misquoted?  Tony wouldn't really hold a press conference to announce that he was no longer dating someone when he still was very much dating someone.  It has to be a mistake.

Seven minutes later and he's sitting on his bed staring out the window at the muggy Manhattan skyline, not really seeing anything but appreciating how the colors mix and blend with each other.  His uninjured hand toys with the piece of ceramic that is now trapped under his skin; super soldier healing repairing the minuscule cut before he was able to get the shard out.  Without a thought, he starts squeezing around the area, a small hiss escaping his clenched teeth when the foreign object is forced to breach his skin once again. 

Twenty minutes later and he's down in the gym, sending a punching bag across the room and ignoring the stream of thoughts that are pressing against his skull at acute angles.

Ninety-three minutes later and his hands are just starting to tingle; then an idea goes fluttering across his mind, prompting him to begin on the free weights.

One hundred and fifty-two minutes later and he staring blankly at the wall as he continues doing crunches, ignoring the sweat dripping down his back and the slight haziness around the edges. 

Steve's brain has finally quieted, no longer making attempts to think, and he's fine.

Just…fine.

\---

Sleep is not important.

During the war, nobody noticed that Steve never slept more than four hours a night, mostly because everyone else enlisted was on a similar schedule.  Sleeping was put on the back burner when forces were invading, bullets were flying, and the injured needed to be transported to safety.  There was no time for sleep. To tell the truth, Steve sleeping four hours after receiving the serum is on par with a modern teenager sleeping until noon, and he feels groggy if he is forced to sleep longer than that short time period.

When he wakes up in the future (wakes up, he wonders why they call it that, as if he was really sleeping and dreamt during his time in the ice…), he's surprised that people still need the same amount of sleep they needed back in to 40s.  With the hustle and bustle of New York City, Steve wonders if anyone gets more than five hours a sleep a night, just because of the noise and general energy of ‘get up and do something’ that has become prevalent.  He’s even more astonished when he hears a doctor recommend to a patient that they should try to sleep more than eight hours a night.

The thought of eight hours, sitting in a bed, unable to sleep, sends shivers down Steve’s spine.

He can still get through the day with a couple catnaps, grabbing them while in the library or sometimes while waiting for the crosswalk light to change when exploring the city he grew up in.  Theoretically, he had gone six days without what he considered real sleep, when he thinks hard about a couple of the more dangerous missions he’d been on with the Commandos.  So three days in the gym straight with no naps or breaks doesn’t drain Steve as much as he hopes it will.

His brain is still trying to process what happened, what went wrong, how he can fix it, but it’s now edged with a fuzziness that casts everything in a less dramatic fashion.  Of course Tony would do something ridiculous like going on television to loudly and obnoxiously refute dating Captain America.  It would only naturally follow that Tony would then run away to an unknown location so Steve couldn’t find out what was really going on.  He should have been expecting and planning for all of this.  It’s really his own fault for not understanding what it meant to be in a relationship with Tony Stark.  That it would be filled with countless doubters and naysayer, up to and including Tony himself.

It couldn’t always be blowjobs and ice cream.

Steve knows he should probably get some sleep, and he stares contemplatively at the couch for a moment but he can’t really grasp the thought of sleeping in his own room so soon.  There is too much _Tony_ where there used to be only _Steve_.  A messy combination created by Tony forgetting clothes and half-built projects, littering the floor in a ramshackle manner.  The bed covers were always rumpled from Tony rolling around under the sheets; blankets kicked aside for Steve to crawl back in to snuggle whenever he returns from his morning run.  Grease and oil stained towels cover the bathroom, because Tony uses so many before and after he gets out of the shower just because he _can_.

It’d be easier to sleep in the living room, but the television is on, and the news is still playing clips from three days ago.  A viral recording of Tony’s short announcement to the world that what he had with Steve wasn’t real, that it was made-up by a frenzied reporter, and that Steve doesn’t need to be present for the interview because Tony knows he’d probably agree with the decision.  Watching his once-upon-a-time relationship be live broadcasted and analyzed by the media is not something that helps him relax enough to nap, so he continues walking.

The light from the kitchen looks friendly and warm, and Steve likes being warm, so he easily ignores the urgent whisper at the back of his mind warning him about who is usually up at oh three thirty, and allows his not-quite-sleepy-enough feet to shuffle towards the doorjamb.

He wishes it were Natasha, who usually comes back from special missions at strange hours with a triumphant smirk, cleaning weapons while humming under her breath long into the night.  If the mission went especially well, she’d make pashka, saying that she learned the recipe from someone long, long ago with hair like hers.  Only after it set would she then share the treat with Steve and only Steve, their little secret in the middle of the night.

He wouldn’t mind if it were Coulson.  The agent comes over to the building whenever he gets struck by insomnia or has a large backlog of reports to finish before a deadline.  Maybe it’s abusing hero worship, but Steve knows if he asks politely enough that Phil will happily drop his reports to talk about history, or to sit and tackle his other backlog of reality television.  Steve really doesn’t understand society’s enjoyment in watching another person’s fabricated life on television when they could be out living their own, but it causes Coulson to relax enough to loosen his tie with a small smile after five minutes, so he puts up with the mini four hour marathons of “My Life as a Teenage Vampire Dropout!”

Even Bruce, who just sits at the table reading scientific journals with a cup of Sleepytime tea, would be welcome.  Though Steve disapproves of the gin Bruce liberally adds to the seemingly mild nightcap.

Instead, it’s the man who has been missing for over fifty-two hours: Tony.

Tony who said their relationship was fictional and created by the media.  Tony, who had to make a point, and needed to have a public breakup to proclaim that the thing they had was nonexistent.  The same Tony who announced all of this during a live interview scheduled coincidentally on their three-month anniversary.

Tony who, in the few seconds before realizing Steve is in the room, is leaning against the counter looking too tired, too stressed and a little punch-drunk.  The soft sigh Steve can’t hold in, _he’s fine he’s here he’s okay_ , is enough of a warning for a pair of cloudy brown eyes to sharpen and zero in on his position.  In the next moment, the Tony Stark-Entrepreneur armor has been snapped on; golden child of the Millennium, provider of wealth and technology to those less privileged, and sustainability savior of the free world.  The smile he sends Steve is as brittle and sharp as broken glass and cuts just as deep.

“Long night?”  Steve has to ask, because last time he heard Tony speak was three days ago on television, arguing with reporters.  He doesn’t want that to be the thing he remembers when he thinks about Tony.

“Nights.  Plural.”

He watches as Tony fidgets next to the four coffeemakers regulated for his use.  Tries to remember the last time he had to rescue Tony’s coffee beans from on top of the refrigerator, where Clint continues to hide it along with any other shiny things he finds in the tower.  Can tell that Tony wants to flee, which the man would then scoff about later and say it was a strategic retreating.  Then it hits him that it’s not his job anymore to try and reassure him and it’s almost like blow to the chest.

When he finishes pouring a glass of milk from the fridge, the shorter man has become quiet as he eyes the space between them, calculating the distance in his head.  The billionaire snaps his head up when Steve moves even closer to finish his drink in front of the sink, jumping a little at the screech the faucet lets out when it is turned on. 

Steve washes out the glass, stares at the water swirling down the drain and waits.  Waits for Tony to explain what happened.  Turns to glance at him because he is weak at heart and needs to look.  It’s been too long without contact, without the brunet’s husky voice complaining about the strange consistency of diner scrambled eggs or his hands wandering where they shouldn’t be in public.  A minute passes and the only thing Steve gets from the silent staring contest is a good look at Tony, noticing with a pang that the other man looks as exhausted as he is.

He gives up when another minute goes by with them both awkwardly shifting in place.

Their first conversation after their one-sided breakup, and it’s less than five words.

“Well, get some sleep.”  Steve murmurs, aware of Tony continuing to ignore him and, before he realizes it, his body has stooped out of habit so he can drop a careless kiss against the side of Tony’s head.

 _It’s a mistake_ , his body tenses at his mistake.  _You’re an idiot_ ; his brain tells him groggily after shaking itself from the dregs of auto-pilot.  _It's Tony_ , the tightness in his chest loosens and his shoulders relax unconsciously. __

Tony’s reaction is less than ideal.

He jerks away with a sharp exhale, back arched against the countertop to gain precious more inches.  “You can’t do that.”  His free hand scrubs roughly against his skull where Steve’s lips had bumped him, hair now sticking up in greasy cowlicks from his actions, “You _can’t_ , Steve.  We’re done.  Finished.  Over.”

Steve can’t stop himself from leaning forward to try and sap heat from Tony, he always feels colder when he is tired as opposed to Tony, who gets hot and flushed when exhausted.  His shoulder bumps against Tony’s when he moves, and the other man jerks away as if burned.  The flare of annoyance at Tony being difficult is hard to ignore, and he feels much more tired than before at the thought that this is how it will be from now on.

“Tony, we are not breaking up.”

“Yes, we are.”

The super solider feels a sharp throb behind his eye as a newly formed headache rams against his skull.  “No, Tony, we’re not.”

"Steve? What’re you doing?  Why are you fighting for?  Are you really going to fight for this?  _This_?" Tony shifts so there is more room between them once again, leaving Steve’s body screaming for the heat that vanishes with the movement. "It wouldn’t have worked out.  You are aware that we looked ridiculous, yeah?"

Instead of responding, Steve reaches out and clamps a hand around Tony’s arm to drag him closer, feels the edge of the arc reactor bounce against his upper stomach when Tony squirms, “We did not, and you shouldn’t care about that anyway.  You never cared about what people thought of you before.  I don’t think-

Tony rips his arm away, causing some of his coffee to splash on the floor and the edge of his frayed jeans, “You never think, Steve, that’s how we got into this pseudo-dating thing in the first place!”  He turns and stares at the wall, unaware of how the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence causes the headache to pound anew at Steve’s temples.

He turns around quickly, hot coffee now sloshing over his hand, and steps into Steve’s personal space, a direct contradiction to his actions just seconds before.  "What are you trying to do?" This close he has to tilt his head back at a ridiculous angle to meet Steve’s eyes, the brown searching over Steve’s features but avoiding eye contact. Steve doesn't know why, but seeing Tony looking up at him with suspicion, dropping the mask to let his real emotions seep through but baring his neck at the same time, feels so much better than the collected Tony Stark that is shown to the camera crews and reporters.

"You don't need to do this, Steve. I mean, I understand what you're trying to do, 40's mentality, no man left behind, a relationship is once in a lifetime, but you don't need to. It'd be silly to get back together, _especially_ because you’re doing it from the wrong reason. It's bad enough that it's two guys, which is sending all the reporters into a tizzy, but we're not even that close.”  Tony rubs his free hand up and down the side of his face while he paces around the counter island, keeping a wary eye on Steve as if he expects him to lunge at him.  “Well, we are that close, were that close, but that was close-close and we don’t do...have that anymore.  Plus I'm short, really short, and the newspapers go crazy with it, the whole height-kink thing they think we have going on behind closed doors. It's bad press for me, since I look ridiculous being the 'girl' according to the reporters, and you're getting bad press because, well, because you're with me.

“So, Steve, we broke up.  We aren’t together anymore.  You need to start getting angry about this, and then move on. You need to catch up and realize it’s for the better, like everyone else.”  He pauses, obviously only now noticing the scowl that Steve knew had twisted his lips as soon as Tony reacted to the kiss a few minutes prior, “You _are_ angry, aren’t you! Fantastic! Get angrier at me!”  He seems too pleased at this show of displeasure, so Steve pettily takes a step closer, just to see the smirk drop from Tony's face.

“I don’t think you know what I’m angry about, Tony.” 

“You’re angry that I didn't do this sooner?  That you didn't have the fat trimmed months ago?  Maybe you’re angry that you weren’t the one to announce it, so-what?  What else could you be thinking, Steve?  That I’m being immature? That I'm being a little boy? Collecting people's hearts only to break them?”

“I’m thinking that you’re being a selfish idiot and we have to talk.” 

Tony stretched his lips into a semblance of a smile, “Ah, the name calling.  Sometimes happens while dating, but always a definite after we breakup.”

“According to you.”

Tony pauses in taking a sip from his third cup of coffee since Steve wandered in, narrowing his eyes over the edge to stare at the taller blond.  “What are you implying?”  He demands, hesitating before stepping closer to glare.

“You broke up with me.  I haven’t broken up with you,”  Steve says as he crosses his arms and squares his stance to avoid reaching out to the shorter man again, aware of Tony tensing at his motions, “You can’t just do something like that without me, especially in front of a bunch of journalists, since I’m half the equation.  Relationships don’t work that way, Tony.  We’re still together until we talk and clear this up.  Make a decision for both of us.  For better or for worse.”

“That’s not what a breakup is, Cap, and it isn’t the 40’s anymore.”  Tony snarled, slamming his cup on the counter and ignoring the steaming liquid that splashed over the edge and onto the granite surface, “It’s not a divorce.  Both parties don’t need to want it.  We don’t have to live apart for a year to make it happen.  We don’t even have to talk and finish this amicably, try to mend the patches and cracks.  Stop trying to fix something that isn't around anymore.  I broke up with you, it’s a done deal, and we are no longer a ‘thing’.”

“Tony, we need-“

“You should be rejoicing.  You’re rid of me!  Free!”  Tony took a huge gulp of coffee, wincing, “You should be out on the town!  Finding someone new!  I’m not that great, Steve, I’m sure it’ll be easy to find someone to date.  I used to do it all the time.  You’ll get someone younger, taller, with nicer teeth.  She’ll have legs that go on for miles and a skirt that only covers inches.  I know that’s what all your Army boys want.”

Steve could feel his temper fraying, grinding his teeth in a bad habit that he thought he had ditched when he turned eleven years old, “I don’t want anyone else.  I just want you.  I’ll be waiting when you come to your senses.”  He turns to leave the kitchen, blinking rapidly to fight off the wave of weariness that slaps him in the face at the motion.

“You’re stupid to remain faithful to me.”  Tony tosses at his back, wanting to get in the last word.

“No, Tony.  I think you’re just surprised that I’m the only one who will be.”  Steve looks over his shoulder once he reached the doorway; takes in the sight of the shorter man scowling at him.  He just wants to fall asleep, wake up, and find out this was all a bad dream.  Hopefully figuring out by Tony snuggling closer to push his cold feet against his calves, like he always did in the morning when he was trying to get attention.  “Try to get some sleep.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He misses the look Tony shoots at the floor, a mixture of panic and confusion, before the billionaire scurries out the other kitchen doorway that led to his garage.

\---

When Pepper finds out, because she finds out _everything_ Tony does one way or another, good or bad, she doesn’t know if she should kill Tony, lock him out of R &D using her Extremely Important CEO Powers (capitalization shows she is serious), or get in contact with his personal coffee farm in Central America and make sure they sign a contract with Folgers.  Instead she glares daggers at the nervously sweating man who had interrupted her spa day, leaves a note for the hotel to pack all her luggage and send it separately, and calls JARVIS to activate the GPS trackers that she had secretly sewn into every pair of Tony’s socks.

If she had her phone on, and not turned it off to relax and try to be stress-free, she would have found out the moment Tony decided to be an ass on national television.  Except Pepper had been celebrating life after a good merger, booking an exotic getaway to use one week of her vacation hoard (34 weeks and counting, grumbled the accounting department every month when calculating the budget), and trying to get away from it all (aka: Tony).  The first vacation in five years, and she hoped Tony would be good for a week, maybe only set fire to himself twice and save the world once without sacrificing himself. She had foolishly thought to herself, as she boarded the plane to her getaway, that Rhodey was there to make sure Tony didn’t get into too much trouble.

Of course, Pepper being out of the country seemed to be the signal for Tony to get into an even bigger hole than usual, make a mess of his private life in public, and then leave it all for Pepper to clean it up.  And even though he wasn’t CEO of the company anymore, he was still the face of it, and the board of trustees was breathing down her neck to fix it. 

This is why a company representative had found her so quickly, and subsequently burst in on her half-naked at the hotel in Greece with a heavily muscled masseuse rubbing his hands covered in oil up her back. 

Fantastic.

Then, to make things worse, her period had started while traveling back this morning, her freckles were multiplying because of the tan she attempted while on the beach, and Pepper really didn’t want to think about this all so early in the morning without eating something greasy and unhealthy, because her migraines were exponential  (not additive) whenever Tony was involved.

“He is in trouble.  Forced-meetings-gala-ball-attendance-for-months-trouble! He is going to-Happy; he’s going to get it today.  It’s Wednesday.  You think he would tell me about this little scheme of his before the twenty-four point drop in our stocks.  Of course he’d have his little tell-all on Friday, before the weekend, because he knew I was flying out.  So he skulked off and planned this, I’m sure of it, because Tony Stark never goes into something like this with his pants down.  Except for that one time, but that doesn’t count because it was twins he was dating, not an American Icon, and the stocks actually increased when he broke up with them.”

The man driving wisely decides to not turn to check on his boss-turned-girlfriend.  It’s easier to concentrate on the traffic of the LIE and dodge people trying to merge in front of him than look in the rear view mirror and make eye contact with the furious woman.  Happy knows that once the attention is shifted onto him, only bad things can happen.

“And Rhodey!  He thinks he’s so smart!  He probably told him to do it; you know he doesn’t like it when Tony gets ‘involved’ with people.”  Happy saw a flash of red hair and fingers crooked into sarcastic quotation marks rear its head from the backseat.  “I know it’s because they have their good ole boys club.  They think I don’t know about the joyrides in the suits, the silly string, and the photo bombing!  I know everything!”  She hissed, pulling out her ponytail and running her hands through her hair in frustration.

Happy took the last exit off the LIE and continues driving, aware he still has at least another hour of listening to Pepper rant.  Avoiding the crowds turning left at the outlet, he continues aiming the vehicle east, one of the few cars going in that direction this early in the morning on a business day.  It is much more crowded on the summer weekends; jam packed with city people fleeing from the heat.

Stopping at a Wendy’s, and throwing enough money at them to pay the salary of each person working there for the next few years, Happy gets a medium coffee and hash browns in less than five minutes.  Through threats and flashing multiple platinum credit cards, Pepper gets four hamburgers, two #9’s and a large Frosty for breakfast.

Happy loves this girl.

When he tells her so, Pepper snarls between bites of chicken nuggets and snaps the window divider up so Happy can no longer see her devouring her well-earned kill.

He really does love her.

As he puts the car in park, conscious of the little Iron Man figurine in the ashtray, Happy isn’t able to even unlock the doors before Pepper is striding purposefully up the brick walkway to the front door.  The house they have pulled up to is simple, in the middle of a nondescript, tree covered, suburban block in Mattituck.  The sound of the Peconic Bay, lapping at the shore nearby, fills the air with the white noise of rolling waves.  This place is one of the numerous houses that Tony buys on a whim and doesn’t realize he owns until he has to escape New York, but can’t flee anywhere where he would be noticed.  One of the reasons why he owns a 13.4 million dollar home in East Hampton, but has never been seen occupying it.

Grabbing the suitcase with the armor, because Happy knows how Tony’s cars have a habit of blowing up into fiery bits once out of sight, he also snags the bag of cheeseburgers he had ordered from the diner down the street.  It’s a given that his boss hasn’t eaten, working long hours is a common excuse, but Happy knows that it’s really because Tony has gotten into the bad habit of forgetting to eat until it’s almost too late.  Tony is much more inclined to eat the offering if he can hold it with one hand, so he can continue working with the other, which is why Happy always shows up with wraps, hamburgers, or a high nutrition smoothie.

Walking through the foyer, where Pepper is arguing quite loudly with Rhodey off to the right, Happy shuffles down the steps into the basement that looks more like a living room that should be on the cover of ‘ _Home & Gardens_’.  The floor was covered in large, square tiles, the light tan of the stone contrasting with the dark mahogany lining the walls.  Happy smiles at the large boxing poster of himself in his prime that hangs above an overlarge fireplace, though Tony says it came with the house and he didn’t buy it, which was opposite of the gigantic flat screen television mounted on the wall.  Even the furniture had a certain flair to it, picked for comfort instead of style, with rugs imported from Turkey tying the eclectic mix of knick-knacks and expensive accessories together seamlessly.

In fact, the only thing preventing the pretty room from being featured in the magazine owned by housewives across the nation was the oil covered billionaire sprawled over the cream leather couch, leaving behind dark streaks of grime and ruining the country-chic flair that the designer of the home had been aiming for.

Ignoring the picturesque area, now lit up beautifully with beams of sunlight and a brisk wind blowing out the linen curtains, Happy walks across the tiled floor and drops the grease stained paper bag onto the unmoving back of Tony Stark.  A pitiful squirm causes the bag to settle against the back of the couch, leaving a stain on the small of Tony’s back as the man turns his head to squint blearily at his chauffer.

“Hey, boss, got you some of those burgers you like.  Haven’t seen you in a while, so I volunteered to bring Pepper out here when she asked.”

_Translation:  You haven’t eaten, here is food, eat it right now before you start throwing up on an empty stomach again like when I brought you to Texas.  You’ve been missing for six days, you didn’t tell anyone, and I thought you were dead.  Pepper is here.  She yelled at me until I picked up the keys and drove her.  She is not happy.  She ate fast food.  You are in trouble._

“Mrfph.”  Tony murmurs half into the leather cushion; uses the hand trapped under his body to rustle the bag so it would fall over and spill its contents against his side.  Turning over seemed to take too much effort, but the small man manages it while only squashing two of the burgers.  He looked over at Happy across the room, makes a little shrug, and shimmies up slightly onto the armrest.  After taking one large bite, making half the burger disappear, he tilts his head at the spot next to him.  “Ah…?”

“Well, it’s not too bad.  She knows what caused it, and it’s only the one thing.  Mostly has something to do with your television appearance a couple days ago.”  Happy said as he sits down on the opposite side of the couch, ignores the threadbare socks, covered in dirt and grunge, that nudge at his thigh.  “Reporters think it has something to do with you and the Captain.”

Tony’s silence says it all, though he does shove the remaining half of his hamburger into his mouth as an excuse not to respond.  Happy knows most of these unconscious tells, since he was one of the few people in the life of the billionaire who saw them consistently on a one-on-one basis.  Not even Pepper knows that Tony will eat more if it means he doesn’t have to answer a question, which is why most of his pictures in restaurants show him swallowing expensive caviar like a duck or quaffing back huge lugs of gin if paparazzi are close by.  Happy wonders if that is why Tony looks so gaunt since he joined up with the Avengers, because he no longer gets mobbed by cameras as often, with so many other targets created by his teammates, thus reducing his forced intake of calories.

“Have you talked to him since then?”

Tony picks at the sesame covering a scrap of bun, the only thing left after he inhaled a second burger, “Not…exactly.”  He drops the bit of food onto the pile of wrappers forming on the floor and reaches for another one, sighs when he pulls back the wax paper, “It didn’t end well, Hap.”

As Happy prepares to respond, correctly decoding Tony’s response as ‘ _I fucked it up.  I had something good, I got scared, and I fucked it up like I always do, Hap_ ’, the door creaks open (a delightful flaw in the structure, the real estate broker had said flippantly) and both men freeze, expecting Pepper to come clicking in on her heels.  She wears them more often when Tony is around so she can tower over him and frustrate the short man into actually doing work. This results in pouts and Tony wearing his own heels in response while he signs papers and smiles begrudgingly at the camera, when they all known he would much rather be exploding something in his garage.

So when a puppy stumbles in past the doorjamb, letting a joyous yap once it notices Tony, Happy can’t help but sigh at an avoided confrontation, only to suddenly realize that there was a _puppy_ in the _house_ owned by _Tony_.  This was not a turn of events that could end well.  He recalls a conversation Tony had slurred out once almost ten years ago, very drunk after a couple of receptions that the younger man couldn’t afford to miss for the company, about his first dog.  And how it had died.  And his dad didn’t care about the dog dying, because he had work.  And he wasn’t allowed to have any more pets because they ruined his concentration. And life sucked, and he wished he had brought someone back with him, if you know what I mean, Hap?

The pudgy German Shepherd toddles deeper into the room, pauses when the jangling of the tags on the pink collar confuse it, only to then get sidetracked by scratching behind its ear.  Tony sighs and the puppy gallops over at the sound, whimpering once it reaches the couch and realizes it can’t jump high enough.  With a grunt, the shorter man leans over and scoops the dog into his arms with a well-practiced movement.

Happy knows this is bad.  Bad News Bears.

“So, uh, what’s its name?”  His voice makes the puppy roll over; unaware of where its paws are, a startled bark coming out involuntarily when it crunches its tail.  The tiny milk teeth chew on Happy’s hand when he offers it to smell.

Tony grins softly, hugs the dog closer so it can lap at his neck that is probably covered with a couple days of sweat, “Her name is Brooklyn.”

Happy knows this isn’t going to end pretty.  The boss never gets himself into something that ends well.  “How’d you get her?”  He rubs against the soft ears that stick up straight, his motions making the registration tags jingle again, much to the confusion of little Brooklyn.

“She’s a gift.”

“From?”

“…For.  She’s a ‘for’ gift.”

Happy can’t stop the hiss of air pushed through his teeth at the mess his friend has gotten himself into this time, clucking his tongue against his teeth as he tried to figure out a way to tread careful.

“Before, or…after your television special with Steve?”

And that was why Happy made a living beforehand getting punched in the head, because he was only good at blundering into things, though his parents would be so proud that he was a pseudo-psychiatrist for a billionaire.

Tony shrugs, plays with the puppy’s feet, flexing them and testing the range of motion available, “It was before…She is…was our three month anniversary present.”  He grins ruefully down at the small animal that is now looking incredulously at his socks trying to judge if she can chew on them, then leans over and grabs the remote.  A couple of pushed buttons later and the interior of the mansion is displayed on the huge television.  There is a flash of Clint running on the building’s ledges, switching to Bruce reading a dog-eared romance novel, then Thor making pop tarts with a frying pan, next is Steve…

Steve looking horrible on the couch, eyes closed, but body tense even through the cameras.  Natasha walks across the room and says something, Happy wonders what she could be saying to the super solider, but it makes the blond on the screen grimace and bring a hand up to massage at his temples while waving her away with the other stiffly.  Coulson enters, looks at the man on the couch, and then looks up at the one camera in the room as if aware that Tony was watching remotely.  The expression on his face is carefully blank, but those who know Coulson can tell he is panicking quietly on the inside.

The television scrolls through the cameras again, going from 1A to 22B and each image has changed except for the one of Steve.  They watch for five minutes, Tony gripping the puppy tighter and tighter at each rotation and Happy chewing on the cold and greasy burger.

“I messed up, didn’t I, Hap?”

The chauffeur leans over to clap his hand against Tony’s shoulder before standing up, wiping his hands on his pants to clean them and worrying about the silence coming from the foyer where Pepper was last seen with Rhodey.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  I think the first part of your solution is realizing what you did wrong, boss.”

“Is it that easy?”

Happy takes the remote and turns down the volume, grabs his keys from the center table where he had thrown them earlier, and makes his way to the front of the house.  “Usually life is complex because you make it complex.  You’re always thinking too much. Reason why some people are happy with their lot in life, and others aren’t, because they don’t think so much.  Maybe I’m lucky, I’m not smart enough to be thinking all the time like you, Mr. Stark.”

“I was really happy, I really was, but Hap, if it doesn’t work out, when it doesn’t work out…  If he doesn’t want me back.  What am I supposed to do?”

The boxer turned chauffeur turned lifelong friend gives a sad rise of his shoulders.  “Do without, I guess.  Nothing else you can do, boss.” 

Tony nods and pulls the dog closer, continuing to stare at the flashing screen, seemingly unaware when Happy turns to stare and sigh.  The puppy, Brooklyn, is droopy eyed and gives huffs whenever she almost falls asleep, eventually giving in to be a limp mass of fur that leans against Tony’s chest.  He almost takes a picture with his phone to send to Steve, to show him that Tony is hurting as much as him, but Happy isn’t a meddler.

All he can do is stand by and watch the story play out.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE LAST CHAPTER, BUT I HAD FEELS AND HAD TO WRITE MORE. I APOLOGIZE. NEXT ONE IS THE LAST, I PROMISE. AND MAYBE THEY GET BACK TOGETHER, BUT I'M NOT SURE.
> 
> I really just want to write Mafia stories, but I refuse until I finish this. D:


	6. Rhodey Tries Like He Always Does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Life got crazy doing consulting working for one of the top 5 in the Fortune 500, and then I lost track of where I wanted to go with this chapter, because I didn't want Tony and Steve to just...get back together, which I feel everyone does in their stories. I wanted something a little more "realistic". 
> 
> When I started writing this...too much love for Rhodey happened, and I couldn't cut it out because I love him! And I also found out I can't write sex scenes. T_T
> 
> Uh...please enjoy!

Rhodey has led a pretty interesting life, thank you very much, and he doesn’t mind boasting about it a little if it means someone else is buying the drinks. 

A time-honed crowd pleaser is how he’s been around the world too many times to count, sometimes in a military warthog, but more and more often while encased in War Machine. A close second is the stories of his government work, and how it isn’t that different from a normal job, including the copious amounts of paperwork and the over-eager summer interns. People seem to find it interesting that no matter how many wars are averted, or how many secrets the government has, there is still an emergency shortage of creamer in every single DOD coffee break room.

But the stories that grab the biggest audiences, a never-ending supply of drinks, and a guaranteed toss out of any bar, were the stories that Rhodey secretly enjoyed telling the most: the ones that featured him and Tony.

Like when one of Tony's smooth talking business partners believed Rhodey was the new janitor for floor 63, only to become tongue tied when Tony brought him to the quarterly golf outings as his "plus-one". Or that time when a pair of pouting debutantes at a S.I. fundraiser, who remembered when Tony used to be a fun drinking buddy, saw Rhodey as their personal punching bag and fled only when the billionaire himself heroically fended them off with a cocktail sword.

Hell, there was even that time when Rhodey made the horrible mistake of having a disastrous date with a cosmetologist, who gave him a crack nail manicure, and then telling Tony about it. Said billionaire then gave away his off-base address when the vulture came lurking around the hotel they had stayed in (Rhodey knew he had been waiting for revenge ever since he off-handedly said that Tony was _‘Starbuck’s definition of tall’_ ). 

But that was just who Tony was: he’d get you in trouble, maybe make you want to kill him, but he’d always stick around with you until the endgame. Even if that meant he became up close and personal with someone else’s mistakes when they knocked at the front door with a bad weave and a cellophane dress.

And Rhodey’s thinks he physically can’t stay mad at Tony, because Tony’s his best friend…and possibly because Tony’s able to do that weird thing with his eyes. The thing that always got him the last cookie when they were in kindergarten, middle school, and MIT. (High school is a period neither of them likes to remember because it involved military school, and boarding school, and Rhodey’s dad dying of cancer, and Tony discovering that not everyone liked self-entitled assholes who knew too much, and Jarvis dying.)

But being "Tony Stark's best friend" isn't as wonderful as everyone assumes it to be. It isn’t just raunchy romps out to Las Vegas on a whim, loosing hundreds of thousands of dollars to the tables, or touring private islands to buy as an apology (“ _I want something like St. Martin’s, I think she likes St. Martin, but let’s go less...Dutch._ ”). On the other side of the argument, Tony isn’t always making upgrades to the armor, ducking his new assistant to the R&D department, or attending multiple meetings that cross several time zones.

In fact, most of the time, being Tony’s friend is hard, and dangerous, and too fast, too bright, and it hurts being forced into front row seats to watch the downward spiral of someone you love and want to protect. Rhodey knows he is one of the few constants in Tony’s life, besides the company and the other man’s crippling self-esteem issues, and it is terrifying to be on the other side of the globe while the news stations are showing Tony getting shot with bullets or aliens grabbing Iron Man out of the sky so easily. Instead of leaving, of washing his hands, which would be so easy some nights when Tony calls to tell him it was only a concussion nothing life threatening, Rhodey stays. Because it’s Tony. His oldest friend. His best friend. He stays because Tony’s the best and he deserves it.

So Rhodey's been there for the good press, the bad press, the kinda-okay-but-not-really press, the Tony-you-are-in-so-much-trouble press, and, the more common than it should be, how-did-that-even-happen-to-a-microwave-this-is-public-television- _how_ - _Tony?_ press. Rhodey's been up close and personal with the lawsuits over stolen tech (Hammer. Always Hammer.), the decade long drunken escapades (Which involved most of the west coast.), at least two forced drug rehab stunts (Cocaine then its good friend oxycodone), and a pregnancy scare (Sunset.). 

He took leave without pay for months after he finally got Tony back from the desert, bruised and battered and barely able to hold a screwdriver because of the medication rotation they had the smaller man on, because Tony is _his_. He's Tony's friend, and he _needs_ Rhodey to be there. 

But it isn't a one-way street, despite what people think; Rhodey is just better at handling a life not filled with multi-billion dollar mergers or assigned security details. Him being only a slightly-above average intelligence, non-billionaire, sometime monogamous, donating-when-asked-in-the-grocery-store-line type of person has left him better prepared to face the little hindrances that pop up every once in a while. Like forgetting a doctor’s appointment, or messing up a first date with a girl he might like.

So, Rhodey doesn't call for the cavalry that often, instead working through his problems with a notebook and a cup of good coffee. He knows that if he gave the faintest of inklings of needing him, of being overwhelmed by his normal, unassuming life, that Tony would drop everything, even the Avengers, and come running. 

It’s who Tony is; always giving when it’d be easier to take.

Like when he would crawl into Rhodey's bed during sleepovers, unasked, because he knew that the then ten-year old Jim-Jim was still scared of the dark. Or that time when Tony piloted the corporate jet across the Atlantic, ignoring Obadiah's rants and threats to cut him out of his position, because Rhodey was shot down and had been barely recovered from enemy territory. Or when Nana died and Rhodey couldn't stop crying into Tony's starched, three-thousand dollar shirt the day before graduation (Rhodey with a B.S. and Tony with his first PhD), and Tony didn't say anything; he just pulled him close and let Rhodey be the clingy one. 

Tony is all Rhodey's got some days, sometimes the only thing keeping him going when he listens to his orders being shouted in his face by the upper brass, and he knows that some people are less than pleased with his consistent presence through the years.

A middle-class African-American personally greeted by Tony Stark at an exclusive movie premier? 

Politically correct move by the company! Good job!

The same dark-skinned, commissioned soldier who was then spotted at the annual Stark Ball a couple months later? 

He works for the government now; a delightful coincidence for the Merchant of Death, how nice for the stockholders!

It’s that black guy again, eating ice cream with Tony Stark in Central Park. Who the fuck does he think he is?

Well…the papers aren’t as polite in reporting that incident as they were with the others.

But he understands. He does, even though Tony pouts and tries to shield him from the more racist mutterings of the paparazzi running around New York City.

They feel threatened. Tony Stark, despite being a self-centered idiot who used to make things go ‘boom', is still NYC’s resident darling. They saw him take his first steps during an interview with Howard Stark. Mourned with him when his parents died and he stared numbly at the caskets. Felt snubbed when he left them behind for the dreaded West Coast and took most of SI with him. Watched him when he flew a missile into the sky with no way back...

Anyway, Rhodey knows what they think the friendship is going to turn into. That Rhodey is using Tony. That he will happily lead the shorter man to the government like a farmer leading a bull by the ring through its nose to slaughter. That he is going to somehow, single-handedly, convince Tony, _his_ _friend_ , into making the RPGs and WMDs that killed millions. That Jim Rhodes is going to be the power behind Tony’s throne and take over SI from behind the scenes, allowing him to abuse the company’s money, influence, and reputation. And, as the cherry on top of this hostile “friendship” takeover, the New Yorkers fear that Rhodey would then use his new power over Tony Stark to buy the Empire State Building, or Rockefeller Center, or, God forbid, the Lower East Side (Tony tried once, Rhodey stopped him because _hipsters_ and _gentrification_ ).

But there is one thing NYers had forgotten in their rush to demonize, bemoan and question Tony Stark’s dubious choice in friends.

To demonize, bemoan and question _Rhodey’s_ choice in friends.

To question the choice of cheese he’s been using in his macaroni all these years (that sounds wrong).

How he’s been the sweet and crunchy Oreo cookie, relentlessly protecting the creamy, rich, empty-calorie white filling from shameless licking (that’s even worse).

Maybe ask why he’s been the sometimes-reluctant Cher to Tony's often-inebriated Sonny (his legs were nicer than Tony’s, he could pull off the tights, and he looked better in a wig, that’s why).

What Rhodey’s trying to say is that Papa Bear can’t be Papa Bear without Mother Hen, and he has been saddled with that hot mess for over thirty years. He can’t just abandon Tony.

Tony is the _best_. You can’t replace the _best_.

And he’s happy for Tony and his new blond boyfriend, really, he is. Sure, he feels like he’s training his replacement whenever he answers one of Steve’s never ending questions about the short brunet. And maybe he’s a little petty when it comes to Tony Stark because he’s had to go through so much to stay with him (they were friends first, his subconscious grouses). But he knows Steve Rogers, Captain America, is good for his friend; even if it does mean that Tony doesn’t have the time to fall asleep with him on the couch, veg out while watching ‘Air Force One’ for the millionth time, or get cupcakes at Martha’s. 

So when his phone goes off before his alarm on a Thursday morning, Rhodey knows Tony is about to do something stupid because it was Tony. 

And Tony may be the _best_ at a lot of things (being a New Yorker vs. a Californian; being an Avenger instead of a SHIELD consultant; being Iron Man; being Rhodey’s friend), but he’s still hopeless when it comes to a relationship that lasted longer than drinks at the bar and ‘sticking tab A into slot B’.

"Just wait for me. Don't go anywhere. Don't do anything. I'll be there, Tony," He says rapidly, cutting off anything the other man would say to argue, and he's already halfway into a pair of non-regulated jeans when he hangs up, looking around his small barrack apartment for his go-bag. In fifteen minutes he’s in the armor (Tony’s armor), making his way towards the GPS coordinates that are flashing across his interface. Four hours later and he’s stepping off the platform, letting the armor be stripped away by the machines as he heads into the top floor of penthouse to find Tony, his Tony, and hoping he hasn't been an idiot yet.

The puppy in the other man’s arms cocks its head at the new person, tongue flopping out in excitement and Rhodey stops in confusion. Last time he had seen Tony with a dog it had been a picture of the man surrounded by pit bulls that had been in the New York Post. A similar picture, albeit from a different angle, had been sent to him by Steve earlier when-oh. Crap.

“Tony, don’t do it,” Rhodey says, because he knows what a Tony Stark breakup looks like a mile away. “Think about it. You don’t want to do it. You love him, you son of a bitch. You know that. I know that. You’re happy, Tone. Finally. Don’t freak out because you're getting what you deserve.”

Despite his protests, or probably because of them, Rhodey finds himself dragged out in front of the press the next day to watch the Charismatic Mr. Fucking Stark, one of Tony’s more cruel personalities, explain to the reporters, television personalities, and rag writers that he and Captain America are nothing more than friends. That they were never dating, were never intimate, never kissed, never shared a bed, never hugged. Never even gave each other a healthy tap on the ass for a job well done after saving the city again. Didn’t even experiment in the hall closet after having one drink too many. That life is horrible for Tony, because who wouldn’t be tapping that if they had a chance?

Tony is very good at distracting the media at large.

Rhodey doesn't call him on it this time because he knows Tony knows, as evidenced by him trying to burrow into Rhodey’s side once they escape the questions to the limo.

So when Tony leaves the workshop later, dressed in a pressed suit and complaining about coffee, Rhodey thinks it’s all over, that Tony is going through the classic “Stark bouncing back from a breakup”-phase. Next, Tony will avoid Steve for a couple days, skulking through the tower, and go on a disastrous drinking binge when it hits them that they’re no longer together. He’ll end up sleeping with someone who looks like Steve, mope around for a couple days, and finally snap out of it to create a new Iron Man armor. The status quo for a Tony Stark breakup nowadays, at least, it’s what he did when Pepper broke up with him. 

Two days later, when Tony sneaks under his blankets, body twitching from nightmares and saying he hasn’t slept in the past four days, Rhodey makes the executive decision as best-friend and takes Tony out east on Long Island.

Which panned out exactly as he assumed it would: a pre-emptive warning from Bambi, Pepper slamming the door open to stand dramatically in the dying sunlight, and Happy sneaking past with the suitcase armor and a sack of cheeseburgers. 

Then Pepper stomped over to Rhodey, and it felt like he was back in basic, only with less camo and higher heels.

Actually, scratch that, less camo. The heels are, depressingly, the same stature as before.

It takes twenty minutes of cajoling, of Pepper hissing at Rhodey when he tries to explain, of avoiding a four-figure purse being swung at him, before the redhead finally calms down enough to _listen_ to Rhodey. It takes another ten, filled with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils, before she agrees that Rhodey maybe knows what he’s doing. That the man who has been Tony’s best friend for a couple decades might know more than her when it comes to coaxing her employer back into polite society.

Pepper doesn’t like being cut out of Tony’s life, and she never understood that by breaking up with Tony she could never really return to the level of careless affection that the shorter man had shared with her before. That he would always be holding something back, afraid of being hurt again, but hiding it all behind his less-known PR smile that looks close enough to the real thing that those closer to his accept it at face value. Rhodey knows he shouldn’t think it, but sometimes he thinks it’s better that they broke up when they did and not later when a ring became involved. 

When Pepper leaves, she assures Tony that she’ll take care of the company for the next couple of days. She would continue to fight off the suicidal hiring attempts of Microsoft and the government. That she’ll make sure to put the fear of Tony into the new hires, even though everyone in the company knows he is a giant softie. She finishes with a frustrated kiss to Tony’s clammy forehead and quick rub against the puppy’s floppy ears.

She subtly smacks Rhodey in the back of the head when she sashays past towards the car, making it look like she was fixing her hair.

Happy makes sad eyes at Tony as he follows the woman, obviously leaving half of his heart with his boss as the other half tugs him after his lady-love.

When the tires can no longer be heard on the driveway’s gravel, and the crickets have started up again, Rhodey has recovered enough from his scolding in the foyer to enter the living room and slouch on the couch next to Tony. The puppy, exhausted by all the new people coming and going, gives a weak wag of its tail and stumbles across Tony’s lap to sprawl halfway on Rhodey’s, using both men as a couch-substitute. 

He uses his free hand, his other is trapped by Tony’s not-inconsequential bulk, to grab at the crunched bag of hamburgers; frowning when there are none left (he _knows_ Pepper ate the last one out of spite). He sighs and closes his eyes, grumpily ignoring his stomach while he scratches the puppy between her shoulder blades. 

A few seconds later, like clockwork, Tony slumps to the right and nuzzles his greasy head into Rhodey’s shoulder and Rhodey basks at the action instead of worrying about the stains being transferred. This is familiar territory. This is something Tony’s done thousands of times in the past. Often sprinkling toast crumbs down his neckline when he was feeling sick or complaining loudly about Reed Richards into his ear.

The feeling that accompanies it is warm and something he’s gotten used to over the years, because he’s only ever experienced this with Tony. The feeling you get when you've known one person for more than half your life and there is nothing left to say that hasn’t already been said in one way or another. Tony needs this, Rhodey thinks, Tony needs someone to watch over him and keep him safe.

A flicker of movement on the muted television, and then it's Steve Rogers looking blankly down at his hands as he sits all alone on a couch in a tower over two hours away, and Rhodey slowly thinks that maybe he can let one more person help him watch after Tony. That it wouldn’t be a hardship if Tony had someone else in his corner besides him, Pepper and Happy. He ignores the screaming of his heart calling him a traitor, abandoning Tony to the wolves.

"I don't know if you realize this," He says, watching the blond on the screen stand up only to sit down again after staring at the wall. "But you're an asshole."

Tony's body stiffens as if he's been slapped, but he doesn't move: almost like he's been expecting this conversation with Rhodey since kindergarten over thirty-five years ago when Tony had thrown a wooden block at Rhodey’s head.

"It's because you make me worry. 

"I worry about your health, whether you've been sleeping or eating those smoothies that you're idiot robots make with expired collard greens.” He pulls his arm out from between them so he can tug Tony into his side, resting his chin on the matted mass of black hair as he stares at the American icon on the screen. 

"I worry that one day when I get called out to help Uncle Sam I'm going come back and you're going to be gone. That you’re going to leave me without even caring." Rhodey runs a hand across the puppy sprawled inelegantly across part of his lap, his other hand coming to tangle in Tony’s hair when the man makes a move to speak, effectively shutting him up. "I'm afraid that you'll do something stupid and I won't be there to protect you. That it’ll be my fault.

"Every time, Tone. Every time,” He says as he pulls the two bodies closer and sighs when Tony finally relaxes and the last amount of tension leaves his body, resulting in him flopping against Rhodey much like the puppy. “But this time…Tony, I can’t keep to the sidelines this time. Watching you rip apart the foundation of something that makes you happy.

“Just…don’t be an idiot and cut your ties completely. Talk to him.” Rhodey allows himself to be weak and rub his cheek against the crown of Tony’s head, needing as much reassurance as the smaller man, “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you when you aren’t glammed up like a tramp talking to Christine Everhart,” He says his final piece, quieting down to watch super soldier television because Tony hasn’t unmuted the channel or allowed the channels to change from Steve since Happy had touched the remote.

"I thought this would make him happy," Tony ventures forth a few minutes later when the Steve onscreen ran his hands through his already mussed hair, a flicker of the image and it was now showing the man at a different angle. “We shouldn’t have even started, he wasn’t really happy with me. Nobody is.”

“I was.”

Tony cranes his head at an awkward angle to look at the other man, “Yeah, but you’re you, buttercup. You’ve always had a screw loose.”

Smothering a chuckle, because it wasn’t funny, Rhodey pulls the puppy into his lap and ignores Tony’s frown when the dog did nothing but settle into the new position. “Tony, you’re not as disgusting a creature as you make yourself out to be, surprising, I know.” Rhodey laughs at the weak fist that bats against his chin in retaliation. 

“Go see him. Talk to him, not at him. Stop trying to mess up your life.” The taller man pats Tony on the head, ignores the scowl easily, and relaxes into the couch, satisfied at a job well done. The puppy burps and shifts when Tony grabs the clicker, and the screen on the television starts its normal rotation, showing Clint sneaking cookies from the kitchen and then Bruce frowning at a tablet in his laboratory.

“Fine, fine, I’ll try to do things your way, Samoa.”

Rhodey smiles, stretches forward to grab the remote from Tony and turns on a football game, the cheering filling the room with its usual obnoxious sound. “It’s my way, or the highway, turtledove. It’s always been.”

Tony snickers and nudges Rhodey for space, which he freely gives up, “Is that right, Oreo?”

“I’m never wrong when it comes to you, brat.” He makes sure to let Tony get the good cushion.

“Oh really, cupcake?

“Yes, Tony. Even when it came to those male triplets in the Caribbean.”

“Cupcake, no, you promised.”

“Fruit cakes. Everywhere. Of every type.”

“Aw, Rho-Rho, no-.”

“The brief appearance of your distant cousin Lady Starkington.”

Tony gasps, betrayed that Rhodey would stoop so low. “You said you’d never bring that up again!”

“I’d say a lot of things to you in a dress if it meant you’d give me the last Twinkie.”

The billionaire slumps so he was more sprawled across Rhodes’s lap with his feet dangling off the couch end, his head wedged between the puppy and his best friend’s stomach.

“So, are you going to talk to him?”

Tony swallows the argument that naturally bubbles up, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look up into the concerned eyes of Rhodey or the ceiling, before giving a tiny nod.

“Yeah... I’ll… I’ll go talk to him.”

\---

“I missed you.”

The comment drifted into the room and it made Steve want to get up, to struggle onto his feet just so he could shake the other man for his blatant stupidity. Then, after Tony had finally snapped out of whatever self-imposed guilt trip he had tricked himself into, he could pull him close for a hug. Maybe rub his stubble against an impeccably groomed goatee and run his hands down the smaller figure to map already memorized contours. Give a chaste kiss that would make at least one of them blush before sweeping the shorter man off his feet and getting back to the status quo, involving secret smiles, disgusting fruit-grass smoothies and making Clint gag on his breakfast.

Instead, in his exhausted state, all Steve could do was roll his head across the back of the couch so he was facing Tony, who was standing awkwardly in the door way and looking at the ground like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“I don’t know if you realize this, but a week isn’t that long,” Steve murmured, his lips tingling as they twitched into the semblance of a smile. A week shouldn’t have been such a strain, he’d spent longer periods of time squatting in icy mud waiting for orders in the past, but again, staying awake that whole time (his super soldier brain helpfully supplied _1week7days168hours10080minutes604800secondswakeup0430hours_ ), could turn even a super soldier into something resembling the undead.

Tony’s harsh breathing hitched momentarily as he moved forward, his shoulders bunching up further with each step deeper into the room. “It felt like forever without you,” he relented, continuing to look down instead of at Steve. One of his hands lingered on the molding that ran up the doorjamb behind him, rubbing it absently with his thumb, “Steve, I…I can’t-“

Steve sighed and raised one of his hands to massage at his temples, wanting to cut to the chase so he could either ignore Tony like he had been doing or pull Tony into his lap on the couch. “Tony, just, did you mean it? Did you _really_ mean it? What you said in the kitchen, on the television to all those reporters,” he ignored the painful weight that clamped across his chest, “That we’re a mistake? That it meant nothing, like with all the other people you had in the past?”

Tony abruptly began to look around the room, avoiding Steve as he took in the television, the windows, watching his feet as they curled into the pile of the rug. He still shuffled closer, the rustle of his pants moving against the ground the only sound that gave away that he was closer (his pants were too long, Steve shouldn’t notice that they’re too long or that they’re his pants he threw in the laundry yesterday, he missed Tony in the tower, how did he miss him, he could have seen him sooner, should have seen Tony). Tony’s mouth opened and closed, and Steve knew the genius’s mind was struggling to think of a way to weasel out of this once again, before he sighed and uttered the affirmation Steve was dreading.

“Yes. We were wrong together.”

Even though he knew Tony was going to respond in the positive, the man never did back off from something he believed in, it still felt like a bullet ricocheting apart his ribs from the inside. Closing his eyes as he rolled his neck to face the ceiling again, Steve tried to ignore the pounding in his chest, the dampness of his palms pressed into his thighs. For a moment, he considered the idea of hating Tony Stark, because he was going to be the only one who would be able to move on with his life easily after this. The other man would seamlessly blend back in with the technology and bachelorhood that was so much _Tony_ that it hurt Steve to think about it, and he’d be left in the past yet again. 

Suddenly, his pants were unzipped and gaping, his cock was engulfed in warm heat and Tony’s thumbs were digging into his knees and pushing his legs apart so they strained the seams of his denim. Looking down at the man who was too near too fast, (since it shouldn’t be happening this way, _it shouldn’t be happening at all_ ) Steve was shocked into a whimper when he saw skin. Too much skin. Not enough skin. Possibly just the right amount of skin.

Because it’s Tony’s skin and he’s kneeling in front of him, between his knees, like countless times in the past, like how he taught Steve just five weeks ago. The olive toned expanse of his back was bare and curved, stretching over lean muscle and bone as he shifted to find a better angle. His feet, often hidden behind loafers, socks, sneakers, heavily plated armor, were suddenly delicate; the tips of his toes peeking out from under his naked ass when he rocked forward to swallow Steve towards the back of his throat. The clumpy edge of his sooty hair brushed Steve’s right hand, which was clenched in his lap as he struggled not to touch, to grab Tony and pull him up so he could taste himself. 

“I missed you so much, Steve.” Tony blew lightly at heated flesh, a flash of teeth the only amusement the smaller man allowed himself when Steve bucked up fruitlessly, looking for more pressure and damp heat. “Missed you and I want you-“ he broke off as he licked a long line from the base of Steve’s cock all the way to the blunt end, his tongue lapping out to play with the tip. “It’s been so long without you.”

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, because somewhere along the way into this he had stopped breathing, and let out a dismayed whimper when Tony twisted his tongue around his shaft and pulled away.

“W-wait, no, Tony, I-“

A string of spittle and pre-cum stretched the distance between chapped lips and a weeping slit prior to it being severed roughly by the back of a hand swiping across a puffy mouth. “It’ll be fine. I’ll make it good, you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. You’re fine.” Tony rested his head on Steve’s thigh, one hand disappearing between his own legs while the other gave a brief squeeze to the base of Steve’s cock. “It’ll be fine,” he murmured as his hand continued to stroke from base to end and the heel of his palm accidentally brushed under the foreskin, which caused the taller man to hiss and draw back into the couch cushions from pain and over sensitivity, “It’ll be fine.”

The billionaire shushed quietly into sweaty skin, his exhale hitching as he arched into his own fingers and then pressed a kiss against the, now, slightly flaccid member. “Ready?” Tony asked, his hands feathering over flushed cock, trapped balls, straining inner thighs and uncovered stomach before going to scramble for something on the floorboards. 

Steve bit back a curse as a lubricated condom was slid harshly on, because he knew Tony would stop to laugh if he voiced complaint not in favor of the cold slick trapped against his dick. The hand resumed stroking, warming the thick pre-packaged liquid on the inside and outside of the latex barrier, single-minded in its task as its partner tracked its previous path back between a pair of legs. A creak of wood, and Tony scrambled upward, his arms hooked around Steve’s straining neck and feet planted on the leather as he let himself fall.

And it was tight, too tight, and Steve knew he shouldn’t have let Tony prep himself, should have taken the time himself to use his fingers and mouth to loosen up the other man. It felt like he was forcing himself in, even with the added lubricant, the way his dick was clenched in a tight grip and his progress was halted for every miniscule distance gained. The choice to stop was taken from him, though, as Tony tilted his hips, pushing Steve in just a little further due to gravity.

Even as the other man impaled himself, squeezing out a humid gasp to mix with Steve’s sweat as he clamped downward, the super soldier couldn’t stop the roll of his hips, the small thrusts, the feeling of his zipper digging into two separate sets of flesh. It had been too long without Tony (a week, a week _a week_ ) and he needs this, wants it so bad, and will take it if Tony is giving it to him so freely.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” The mantra was mumbled into his ear as Tony started to move up and down, shaking and wincing when large hands grasped at his sides to help him slide up farther and fall deeper on the return, “You can’t, you didn’t-“ The words stuttered to a halt when Steve finally hit the other man’s prostate, sending a shudder through the lighter frame balanced above him. “You forgot, Steve, you forgot my-“

Steve pushed forward one last time when his balls strained against his jeans, yearning for release but refusing it, panting as he waited for Tony to catch his breath. A whimper into his neck caused his dick to twitch in response, and he pushed his forehead into Tony’s sternum so his body wouldn’t begin thrusting back into the slightly more forgiving body, now that it had been abused into relaxation. He concentrated on the feeling of lubricant leaking from a rip near the base of the condom, the feeling of Tony’s oily hair on his cheek, at least until the dark haired man rocked into his lap so that his cock would rub against the rough patch inside Tony.

Steve pushed up, arching off the cushions so he could get a better position, and allowed one hand to drift down and help Tony along only to frown at the limp cock sticking against a sweat damp thigh. “Tony, I-“ he turned his head and frowned when Tony avoided his look yet again, as he had the entire time since he’d walked into the room.

“You forgot, Steve, you forgot…”

“Tony, what?” Steve dug his fingers into the meat of Tony’s flanks, pulling so he could be deeper, “What’d I forget? To help you jerk off,” he rotated his hips as he bottomed out, feeling the smaller man clench and gasp against his neck, “Forgot to prep you,” he hissed as Tony sunk his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, “Forgot to finish inside you?” Steve felt himself groan deep in his throat as Tony clenched hard, sending himself over the edge. He paused, vision spangled, and blinked back moisture, “What, Tony, what?”

“Ahhhh,” Tony hissed as his back bowed, slick and cum sliding out of his body at the movement to saturate the clothes Steve was still wearing, hair stuck to his temples, “No, no, no, y-you forgot my eyes, Steve. My eyes.” He said finally as he curled forward to rest his forehead against Steve’s, top half of his face smeared like a botched oil painting and teeth gleaming in a plastic smile. “It’s only been a week and you’ve already forgotten what my eyes look like.”

The bile creeping up his throat burned, it’s not Tony, but it is Tony, but it’s _not Tony_ , and he can’t fight the gasp ripped from his lips when Tony (no, not!-Tony _Tony_ ) grinned and sunk down with a squelch of fluids and a throaty moan and-

And-

Steve woke up.

He’s still sitting on the couch. (It’ll be fine.) The television is muted, flashing a movie that had started over an hour ago. (It’s fine.) The lights are still dimmed from when Natasha had checked in earlier only to shake her head and leave after five minutes. (He’s fine.) He’s in the twenty-first century. ( _He’s fine_ ). Everything is okay, everything is fine. He’s okay; he’s fine he’s okay hes fine hesokayokay?fineokayfine _fine_ -

He tilted his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the need for his body to sleep. Opened his eyes to stare up at the blank, cream-colored ceiling; noting the blue reflection that was reflected from the room’s technology. He’s alone, like he’s been for the past four days, like he was in the ice.

“I’m fine.” Steve said to the empty room.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this isn't the last chapter (I feel like I've been saying this since Chapter 2). Sorry! I'll start working on the next one right away! Hopefully it won't be too long a wait, especially since I kinda have an idea of what I want happen. (aka; I want to start new stories, but I won't let myself until I finish this! *triumphant fist pump*)
> 
> I want this to finish as much as you guys!
> 
> Any errors, feel free to comment and let me know! I want this story done!


	7. They Finally Get Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.
> 
> Sorry. Go enjoy Tony pressed against the wall closet sex (the original purpose of this entire thing).

\---

When he was little Steve used to sleepwalk.

It was never a problem, and it didn’t even happen that often, if Steve remembered to exclude the instances caused by his asthma and that reoccurring cold he could never shake. Besides, the neighborhood back then was much more interested in gossiping about Mr. O’Hara and his drunken wanderings into traffic while dressed in only his underwear. The Rogers boy slumped against the apartment door snoring, a blanket wrapped around him most likely by Ms. Collins in 9B, was not great fodder for the gossip mill and was usually dismissed for something juicier.

On the other hand, Steve’s mother thought the entire ordeal was hilarious

Sarah made sure to fully document ever instance of Steve’s sleepwalking, including that time when he had sloppily tried to wash the dishes while snoring. The tally sheet on her powder table was pulled out whenever she needed a prop in her lamentations of _Steve only listening to her when he was asleep, oh, why was she cursed with such a fae of a child, why was her life so burdened?_ Mrs. Buchannan would usually be pulled in to agree, her voice chiming in to wistfully wish that Bucky would start sleepwalking so she could actually keep a leash on the boy sometimes.

When Steve closed his eyes some nights, earlier in his ‘defrosting’ and wishing he could go back to _then_ instead of staying in the _now_ , he could easily see the two mothers grinning at each other while they sipped watered-down coffee. It was a happy memory he could look back on after the serum stopped the whole, ‘wake up and wander around without really knowing it’.

Except the serum didn’t exactly stop it completely, just made sure it only happened when Steve was feeling especially horrible and stressed and dreaded going to sleep. He sleepwalked when he found out Bucky was MIA...counted those years in the ice, because he wasn’t really asleep but he wasn’t really awake...and this past week had been hell, constantly waking up after only a couple fractured minutes to find himself in places that were definitely not his bed.

And it shouldn’t have been a problem, it had never been a problem in the past, however Steve kept escaping the Avenger’s floors. When he had been a small, sickly, boy, Steve obviously couldn’t move quick enough to sprint down twenty flights of stairs without waking up. Super soldiers traveled at more of a sleep “run” than a walk, which meant that Steve would find himself in places that the Avengers should never, technically, see. Like the ladies’ room on the twenty-third floor, or the underside of the Accounting department’s kitchen table sometime after midnight.

So when Steve woke up to weak sunshine beaming on his face he didn’t panic, just wondered if he broke the elevator doors again. It was a fantastic start to the second week of his own personal hell: no Tony, no sleep, and, judging from the sun’s position, no breakfast.

Best case scenario; he had somehow found his way into the tastefully decorated building atrium and just needed to take an un-broken elevator to the top floors.

Worst case scenario? He had stumbled the ten blocks uptown and was in Central Park.

Either way, he was sure to be trending on Tumblr soon if he decided to stay sprawled across the grass-covered ground.

Craning his neck to take in his surroundings, wondering if there was a hotdog stand nearby, he was assaulted by out-of-season foliage in stacked boxes and the damp smell of soil that had been recently tilled. It immediately let him know where he was, prompting Steve to groan and thump his head on the ground at the little Stark Industries logo etched on the back of a bench. There was only one place in the world that would have a strange abundance of hydroponic tomatoes sitting in front of a view that most of New York would kill for:

He had to be on one of the infamous terraces.

Unlike most parts of the city, and most of the country, terraces were something minor. A fun, little detail added to a home or a large building for ‘aesthetics’. The only thing impressive about most 5’x5’ additions was the final invoice that was usually much higher than originally estimated.

Terraces, like most things at Stark Tower, were a very, very, big deal.

Being ninety-three floors high, if one decided to include the MetLife building it was built upon, Stark Tower took up a lot of real estate. Thirty-six of these floors made up the famous ‘lean’ of the tall building that decorated New York City’s skyline. Not even Tony Stark needed over thirty helicopter landing pads, and Pepper had argued him out of it, thus a design plan was created for this extra square footage. Instead of trying to get around the zoning laws that detailed how high vs. how wide a building could be, like his nearby neighbor Trump would have attempted, Mr. Stark decided to shake things up a little bit and show how committed to the “green initiative” his company was:

Any exposed, flat rooftop that wasn’t already occupied by solar panels would be turned into a working garden.

Meaning all thirty-six terraces had been transformed into a strange gardening/farming hybrid that somehow went above and beyond any regulations the DEC, HPD or any other acronymic agency in New York City could come up with.

The amount of produce the C5-3 commercial building generated each month was, frankly, ridiculous.

Inter-office competitions cropped up as quickly as the vegetables, and the cut-throat cooking rivalry that developed between the web designers and the word processing department helped Pepper feed Tony through most of the year (because even though she was no longer his PA, or his _girlfriend_ , Rhodey had wrangled a blood-pact from her to feed and water Tony something healthy at least once a day if she could find him).

The Stark legal team, known for a caffeine consumption that terrifyingly rivaled Mr. Stark’s, were in charge of who exactly had access to the terraces once they passed building code. While sipping doctored coffees (the senior advisor always took her latte with an unhealthy splash of Daniels), they decided it would be in SI’s best interests legally be very particular of who was allowed where, resulting in increased security in the lobby.

Then parkour became popular in the city, and even the penthouse wasn’t safe (Tony gave the Aussie who vaulted over his railing half a million dollars after he turned off the security system that nearly vaporized the younger man).

The legal team then decided it would be easier to just to put the building into a mini-lockdown mode. The terraces and exterior of the building would be free range, but to gain entry into the building would require a valid SI-employee ID card.

With that decision in mind, a memo was drafted and sent to the security team eight floors up to request card scan pads to be installed at the doors. It wouldn’t be too difficult; the pads were already used for the main entrance as a type of ‘punch in’ time card system, and a surplus was kept in supply due to Happy Hogan’s tyrannical term as head of security.

Unfortunately, the memo that was sent out explaining this was forty-two pages long, filled with legalese, and didn’t actually say where the pads needed to be installed.

The email the security team sent back was filled with rude pictures taken by smart phones and a movie clip ripped from camera L34-A3’s memory that showed a younger male lawyer making out with a barista.

The superfluously worded response told them where they could shove that.

The security team countered with something that their mothers’ would be scandalized to hear about (their father’s would think it was hilarious).

It was only when Pepper stepped in, quickly and quietly stopping the office civil war, that the job was actually finished and Tony was none the wiser. (This was a lie. Steve knew because he had heard the gossip about the illegal betting ring that had sprung up from the combined efforts of Tony and the rest of the R&D department a couple months ago. The odds were 5:3 for a fist fight to be started by a senior ethics lawyer with the third-shift patrol officer with the lisp.) When the smoke had cleared, and Tony had pocketed $20 from the lone geologist on staff, the discrete card scan pads were installed next to all doors leading into the building on the non-residential floors.

The small green light, showing that the system was armed, mocked Steve from its regulated 3.5 feet above the floor.

He was Captain America; leader of the Avengers, one of six residents of the Tower’s top floors, and thus, due to a legal loophole, wasn’t technically allowed inside of the building because he wasn’t a SI employee. Steve shouldn’t have even bothered patting at the t-shirt and sweatpants he was wearing, knowing he wouldn’t find anything to help him gain entry to the double-plated, bullet-proof door (the security team was very serious when it came to their jobs).

He glanced wistfully at the next floor, just a smidgen too high for him to grab if he took a running leap, before turning his gaze to his surroundings. While estimating how angry the gardeners would be if he took apart a hydroponic setup to cobble together a grappling hook, not even sure he could create one with the way his mind just seemed to be stuck in second-gear, a soft sound from behind set him on high alert.

Whipping around, dressed in loose pajamas with his fists up ready to attack, Steve blinked in bewilderment when he had to look down at his heavily panting assailant.

It was a dog.

His hands shook uselessly at his sides from the sudden spurt of adrenaline while his body struggled to stay alert when it was obviously not needed.

The puppy, too small to be full grown now that he had taken a more careful look at it, yawned nonchalantly while stretching at its spot near a bench. A handful of seconds later it began to scratch lazily behind its ear with a back paw, sending the tags around the pink collar jingling, its black and tan coloring triggered a wave of nostalgia. Steve knew this type of dog, or at least ones that looked like it, the name Strongheart coming back at him as fresh as when he first saw the movies of the large dog jumping across the screen silently to music played by a piano.

The puppy gave a small yip and began mouthing at its back paw, growling when the limb started fighting back and hitting it in the face.

This dog was obviously not up to par to the high standards required from the dogs of Hollywood past.

Steve sighed and plopped back down onto the well-tended grass near the sole bench and noted the nearby bowl of water and kibble which meant that the dog was probably left here on purpose. Not like him, who was stuck until one of the Avengers noticed he was missing. A prospect that did not fill him with the greatest of confidence since Thor had been locked in a conference room for days until he broke through the complicated French-style doors with his hammer. When asked why no one had freed him from ‘The Mighty Adversary Called Front Conference Room A312” everyone simply assumed he had been on a date with Jane at the Times Square McDonalds, one of the god’s favorite places once he discovered it.

At least Steve had some type of entertainment until the puppy's owner came back from their meeting and released him from his prison, he thought, and turned to watch the animal continue to chew on its flailing limb. Steve couldn’t stop the bark of tired laughter when the dog somehow tangled its back leg into its collar and was now slumped sideways on the ground, whimpering as if the world was ending.

Without thinking, he leaned forward and wrestled the wriggling ball of fluff into his crossed legs even though he knew the dog could have figured it out on its own, “C’mere, little guy. Let’s see if I can help you out. Maybe you’ll return the favor and get me out of here like Rin Tin Tin,” he said, cursing under his breath when a surprisingly solid puppy skull slammed into his chin in answer.

After he sifted through what must have been a dozen tags, which detailed a ridiculous amount of vaccinations and registrations, and his other hand accidentally discovered the puppy was, in fact, _a girl_ , Steve finally found the small pink heart that wasn’t stamped with a line of numbers and blocky text detailing a veterinary office or a NYC department. Granted, it wasn’t the owner’s name, or even the name of the puppy herself, but a simple line of cursive laser-cut into the metal that threw him for a loop-

_‘I too lived-Brooklyn of ample hills was mine’_

-because it was a poem he knew.

Without thinking, he flipped over the tag, hoping to see either the title of the poem or the familiar initials of Walt Whitman, but instead his thumb dragged across the simple worded phrase of _‘A Brooklyn we both can love’_. Evidently some type of declaration of love that only the owner would know about, he mused while shifting the puppy in his lap to stop her from mouthing the heel of his hand. Trying not to feel too upset at his train of thought, (his mind _ached_ at the mere notion of Tony), Steve leaned back against the bench to better contemplate the small green light that continued to mock him from the card reader.

“Looks like we’re stuck up here together, eh, kiddo?” He said a few minutes later as his thumbnail traced the path of the engraved words, his eyes lazily winding up and down the path from the bench to the locked door. “Maybe your mommy or daddy will be finished with their meeting soon,” he mused, trailing his other hand through the silky, puppy fur. “They’ll probably bring you home to a soft bed, maybe a toy or two…” Steve mumbled, resting his neck against the wooden seat of the bench and closing his eyes when the sunlight was too much for his tired eyes. “Might get kisses out of it…and some…stuff…”

He must have been dozing; the warm sun and the puppy combined helping him reach that blissful state. Though it wasn’t the sleep he so badly needed, eight days awake was a stretch even for a super soldier, it was better than the constant pounding against his skull that had become normal. When the bubble of peace was broken by a door slamming open, Steve lurched upright from his slumped position against the bench, pulling the puppy closer to his chest in a defensive position.

“I’m sorry, baby! Left you alone too long,” a familiar voice said, Tony looking down at his phone with a semi-frantic expression as he walked onto the grass of the terrace. “I meant to come up afterwards, wanted to bring you up to meet Daddy, but one of the VPs needed to talk and he wouldn’t-” The words cut off abruptly as the brunet looked up, finally noticing Steve sitting on the ground with ‘baby’ in his lap only a few feet away.

Steve felt an uncharacteristic sliver of victory at Tony’s jolt of surprised pain before Tony covered it up with his usual mask, distracted into breaking eye contact when the puppy excitedly barked and scampered off in a scramble of limbs.

“Hey, Tony,” he said, tilting his head in a brief nod of acknowledgment while he tried to control his breathing. He could do this. He could do casual friends with the ex. He could try and pretend Tony didn’t rip out his heart. They could be friends. He had to do it.

He pushed off from the grass and stood, casually tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants to hide the shaking caused from exhaustion and stress. “Didn’t expect to see you here…with a dog, no less.” Steve said, knowing that his smile was a wobbly mess. “She’s pretty cute.”

“Steve, I--“

“She’s going to be a heartbreaker,” Steve spoke over Tony, cutting him off to watch the puppy scratch at the billionaire’s shoes, wondering vaguely how much money the footwear cost before continuing, “no doubt about it with those big brown eyes, but I’m sure you’ll be fine with her. You’ll make sure she has everything a puppy needs. I mean, you’re fantastic at taking care of others. For making them feel loved. Making sure that everything is perfect and wonderful, right?”

He refused to raise his eyes any higher than the rough outline of Tony’s goatee and the five o’clock shadow that was coming in, and Steve couldn’t stop talking because he knew if he stopped that Tony would cut in and he didn’t want-

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. You’ll take care of her, and love her, and make sure she doesn’t get in trouble. Or, you know,” he shrugged and rocked back on his bare heels, taking a step backwards when he lost his balance and his reflexes barely caught him in time, “Give her the right food, and toys. You’re really good at making sure that everything goes according to plan, Tony. All you’re plans are great, I’m-“

He couldn’t keep it up when faced with Tony’s blank eyed stare.

“Christ, Tony, why’d you have to make the tag?” he croaked, roughly running his hands through his hair, linking the fingers behind his neck and pressing against his throat with his palms, where he could feel his heart pounding away like a locomotive at full-steam. The small pink heart, with the quote about Brooklyn, kept forcing itself to the front of his mind, “You made that, and she has it, and it makes it seem like you still want this. Like you didn’t want to breakup and you care about us.”

He heavily dropped back onto the bench, aware Tony had moved closer but not caring; he needed to say it.

“I’d be fine if you really meant it, ya know? If you really wanted to break up with me, I’d have let you,” Steve looked up at Tony, aware he probably looked like a mess but he needed to see the other man one more time to make sure he was real, and not the hallucination his mind had created for him from lack of sleep the other day. “I just want you to be happy,” his voice cracked, Tony flinched, and Steve dropped his eyes again to the grass that was looking more blurry as the conversation continued. “And if that made you happy, I would survive. I would be miserable, but I’m built for moving on.

“It’s what Captain America does. He moves on.

“But then I find her obviously by mistake,” he gestured blindly with one hand to the puppy who was chewing on a toy nearby completely oblivious, and he slumped over to cradle his forehead against the cup of his hand, arm propped up on his knee while sniffling loudly against his clogged nose, “and she has the stupid tag, with the poem and Brooklyn, and I don’t know what you want?”

“Steve, I want you-“

“You left!” He suddenly shouted, jerking his head up to glare in the general direction of the man before dropping his head when he felt an unwelcome wetness on his cheeks, “You quit on us and I didn’t know until I read about it in the headlines! The reporters had to tell me instead of you!” Steve tugged at his hair, aware that the grass was just a hazy swirl of green, and he didn’t _care_ that it was word vomit and that he was starting to sound hysterical. Tony was here and he would listen to what Steve had to say without running away for once.

“Now we’re both miserable, you haven’t been home in a week, I haven’t slept in days, the news is _still_ talking about us, and we’re both miserable!” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes and continued before too much of an opening was given to Tony to interrupt, “Don’t even try to deny it, you hide it about as well as me, and I just want to know what you’re getting out of this, Tony? What did you think was going to happen? Are you really happy now, because I’m sure as hell not,” he spat, heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, bracing both elbows against his knees.

Steve started violently when Tony sat next to him, fighting vainly against the dry hand that gripped his wrist and pulled him over to rest his clammy forehead against Tony’s shoulder. And he just couldn’t fight it anymore. He was so _tired_ , and Tony was finally back after running away from him for five days. The hand running through his hair, combined with the _‘shhhhs’_ whispered in his ear, were all he needed to start bawling all out and crumble into Tony’s chest.

It was hard to be stoic after everything.

“It’s okay. You’re fine,” Tony said quietly after the first round of sobs had passed and Steve began to suck in breaths that never seemed to fill his lungs enough, “It’s been a hard week for both of us,” he continued while rubbing his hands firmly against Steve’s back, not commenting on the arms that gripped his waist like it was the only thing tying him to Earth. “You’re tired. We’re both tired, but nothing I say right now is going to help us.”

The tears started again, because Tony was just being _cruel_ now, but they slowed to a confused trickle when Tony pulled at Steve’s hands to bring him to his feet unsteadily instead of abandoning him on the terrace. “C’mon, let’s get going. You need sleep, can’t do anything without sleep, and you’ll feel okay after a couple hours,” he said softly, obviously ignoring the heaving shoulders as Steve tried to get back the small amount of control he had lost. “We’ll go to bed and everything will be better in the morning. It always works for me.”

Steve knew he should fight this more, force Tony to explain what went wrong and why he did it, except Tony had already clipped a thin leash onto the puppy and was back to crooning gently in his ear, _“It’ll be fine. I’ll be there when you wake up. We’ll be fine,”_ and Steve felt his resistance collapse like a house of wet playing cards, though he did shake Tony’s grip off his arm in a small spark of defiance.

He was shattered, and spent, and he’d do anything to finally sleep, even listen to Tony finally explain why he broke up with him on live television. So Steve followed dutifully behind the man who swiped a plastic card against the pad, causing it to blink and the door to swing open. Tried to ignore how his eyes felt like they were shaking in their sockets when he focused on an object for more than a couple seconds. Trailed further behind when his legs started to feel like stone, causing Tony to hold the elevator until he could step inside and lean gracelessly against the polished walls for support.

Steve couldn’t recall how he actually made it to their shared bedroom, he thinks he might have argued with Tony at some point when the smaller man stopped the elevator at Steve’s floor, but he knows it’s _their room_ as soon as he passed the threshold with a stumble. Tony said something and Steve stared back because it was just white noise now, but nevertheless he nodded tiredly when the billionaire stopped and looked at him meaningfully from the foot of the bed

Then he’s falling over into sheets that are a little stale and cold, yet they still smelled the same, and sleep finally, _at long last_ , came.

\---

Steve shuddered awake when something freezing pressed against his calves, the legs of his sweatpants hiked up from his ankles so whatever it was could dig into the vulnerable back of his knees. He groggily kicked at the covers, the comforter covered by an ugly floral cover that Tony bought from IKEA, in an attempt to escape, but found his way blocked when he squirmed futilely against the cold wall directly in front of him. Flailing against the wall, because he was on the wrong side of the bed, and the whole reason for ‘sides of the bed’ was so Steve could block the sunlight with his bulk and Tony wouldn’t wake up grumpy in the morning, he was distracted by his attacker moving lethargically against his back. A moment later and the ice cold points of contact against his legs started moving around in a circular pattern that almost caused Steve to start crying again.

Because those were Tony’s cold feet shoved against Steve’s legs in a desperate, unconscious search for warmth.

Squirming so the covers shifted back over his shoulders, Steve realized Tony had to be snuggling closer than usual for the blanket to be enveloping Tony completely beneath the heavy folds of fabric. He let out a shaky breath, relieved to feel bony elbows gouging into the small of his back due to Tony’s annoying habit of tucking his folded arms beneath his chin. He relaxed slowly, pushing his body backwards gently against Tony and get further away from the wall. Maybe if he played this right, he could maneuver Tony into his spot against the wall, corner him in the morning and-

“I’m…not happy,” Tony said from beneath the comforter, muffled against Steve’s shoulder, barely heard.

Steve could feel Tony shift against his back and he waited for his body to move away, to leave him alone in the bed so they could start arguing, so he was surprised when an arm snaked itself around to the front of his chest and fisted itself in his t-shirt.

“I…” Tony paused and Steve hesitantly placed his hand over the clenched fist that was near his heart. “I’m not happy when you’re gone,” he whispered the words hot and moist into Steve’s t-shirt-covered back, “but I don’t know how to keep you.”

If he concentrated hard, Steve could imagine the anguished expression Tony was pushing into his skin. That Tony was pressing his forehead firmly against Steve to prevent him from leaving, trapping him against the wall and plastering his body closer because he missed him. The difference in size was more apparent with Tony’s feet firmly against Steve’s calf muscles; his knees nudging again the crease where Steve’s ass met his leg and his head still shoved into the middle of Steve’s back.

Steve opened his mouth, ready to tell Tony he didn’t have to work to keep him, that Steve was in for the long haul as long as he’d have him, when Tony shuddered against his back, “I thought I’d let you go before you hurt me, before we hurt each other. It was too late for Pepper and me. She had to be the smart one and end it before we self-destructed. But then you wouldn’t leave, you-stupid, _idiot_ , you wouldn’t leave and I had to act worse,” Tony’s voice cracked and Steve felt his shirt clinging to his back where Tony was rubbing his face.

“It was supposed to work. Rhodey said it wasn’t going to, but I knew it was going to work because I’m an asshole, and everyone leaves when I’m more of an asshole than usual,” Tony explained, dragging the rest of the covers away from Steve as he started to cocoon himself within them. Steve shivered as the warmth was pulled away but avoided turning, knowing that Tony needed to say his piece and it was easier for the other man when they didn’t make eye contact.

The room was quiet as Tony twisted the blankets tighter around his body, the comforter rustling loudly at his subtle movements.

“You made it past the first month,” Tony mumbled, “I thought it was a fluke, but then our second month went by just as fast and you took me to that sushi place even though you hate raw fish.” Steve smiled at the memory of him gagging on a hunk of wasabi as Tony laughed and kissed away his embarrassment. “And I thought this might work, that we might be good for each other.

“Then I figured out what was wrong…I…” Tony sighed and pushed his blanket-covered body against Steve, erasing the scant inches away from the freezing wall Steve had gained while listening to Tony talk, “I hadn’t been paying attention to the media. It was stupid. I’ve been living in the limelight my whole life and I suddenly ignored it all because I was happy. I was fine with them dragging my name through the mud; I would have found it odd if they didn’t after all these years, but Steve…Steve…They started doing it to you too.

“They couldn’t touch Captain America, he was too perfect, but Steve Rogers was fair game once I helped paint the giant target on your back.”

Steve cautiously arched his stomach away from the cold wall again, reaching around to keep Tony against his back as he moved. He knew Tony wouldn’t let him interrupt with a spoken condolence, so he showed his support with what little physical affection he could give while facing the other direction. Plus Steve was freezing pressed against the wall and any contact with Tony meant a little more warmth.

This was not exactly how he wanted this conversation to go after the eight day ‘mini-break’, but he wasn’t going to stop Tony now that he had started.

“So I thought I’d maybe drive you off by being more of a dick than usual, grabbing your ass in front of the cameras, playing it up…” Tony continued, “Make you re-think being my boyfriend. Let you leave me so they’d refocus their cannons back on me but, Steve, you just wouldn’t- _You stayed._ You weren’t supposed to stay.”

The hand that poked out from the blankets shook only slightly when it slid around Steve’s front, repeating the same gesture that was completed so confidently only a few moments ago. “I didn’t want you to go, but I knew you needed to leave. So they wouldn’t go after you like they did with me.”

Instead of just holding the hand against his heart like before, Steve finally turned to wrap his arms around the mummified-form that had been created from the tightly wrapped blanket. “I don’t need you to do defend me, Tony, or be my white knight,” he explained slowly, identifying the smaller lump that had to be Tony’s head, pulling the body closer so it was tucked into his neck, “This isn’t a fairy tale. We’re not made for happily ever afters.”

He peeled back the edge of blanket and looked down at the man who had his eyes twisted tight enough that the stress lines around his eyes were deep gouges in the skin. “We’re just normal people. We make mistakes.” Steve used his other hand to smooth back Tony’s rumpled bangs from his red-rimmed eyes. “Even stupid mistakes like trying to push away the people they love.” He smiled and bumped his forehead against Tony’s, ignoring the smaller man’s loud sniff at the action.

“I don’t care what people say about us, or what they say about me.” Steve pulled at another piece of the blanket away, smiling when Tony curled in on himself to keep the warmth trapped between their bodies. Arranging the huge blanket so it draped over them both, Steve continued, “Besides, if I listened to what the press said I don’t think we’d have ever got together.”

Tony grumbled and shot a squinty glare up at Steve as he rubbed his goatee rhythmically against Steve’s collarbone. “And why’s that? What great knowledge did the paparazzi bestow on you? My horrible history of drinking? The fact that I can never make a relationship work, unless I pay the person?”

“No. Just that you’re an asshole.”

Tony choked on a laugh and coughed weakly at the saliva he swallowed from the action. “You always had a way with words, hon, but you really need to choose better moments to show your gift of gab and maybe stick to rousing speeches on the battlefield,” he croaked into Steve’s neck as he shifted his body so he was closer in height to Steve horizontally. His feet barely touched Steve’s knees when they were lying down, with Tony folded up, and Steve used it as an excuse to manhandle Tony a little bit; rolling over to playfully push Tony back against his freezing wall so Steve could scooch back onto his warm, soon to be sun-filled, side of the bed.

“But you’re my asshole,” He said, shifting his shoulders so he settled back into his well-worn mattress divot, wrapping his arm firmly around Tony’s shoulder and crowding him up against the wall. “It’s a known fact, actually, throughout the world, that Mr. Anthony Stark is a genuine asshole. And Captain America would never go out with an asshole.

“Steve Rogers, thankfully, has always been attracted to assholes, especially ones with huge mouths who are idiot’s and don’t know a good thing when they’ve got it.”

“You really know how to set a girl’s heart aflame, Steve.”

Steve hid his smile in Tony’s hair while his leg wrapped around Tony’s waist and dragged him closer so they were plastered together in a tangle of limbs. “So we’ll be just fine,” he said, “as long as you agree to my terms to never bring this week up again, except to make fun of it at Thanksgiving and maybe Christmas ten years from now, because you’re my asshole. No matter how much you deny it.

“So are we good? You’ll quit being an idiot and go back to being my frustrating boyfriend? Who does the things he thinks I’ll hate, like grabbing my butt and kissing me on national television?”

Tony responded with a wet snort and wiggled closer, somehow, “Yeah.”

“Good. That means you can wake up early tomorrow and apologize to those reporters. I’ll make you flashcards. It will be eloquent.”

\---

When Steve woke up later, stiff from not moving at all while sleeping, he looked at the wall and for a moment feared that he had made it all up. That Tony was still hiding from him and that last night had been another hallucination. The spot was cold as he moved its hand over it, but a whiff of Tony’s cologne proved to Steve that Tony had to be there recently.

Sitting up, rolling his shoulders and yawning, Steve spotted the scrap of paper perched in its normal spot near the novelty Iron Man alarm clock.

 _‘Have to take care of business. Lunch later?’_ Followed by a stick figure that Steve supposed was Captain America.

Abruptly, Steve realized he had to see Tony. Glancing at the clock, which flashed 9:32 AM, much later than he had slept even before the serum had been introduced to his bloodstream, he jackknifed out of bed and yanked on a pair of jeans and an orange shirt that were crumbled at the base of the bed. He had to see Tony.

Running through the kitchen, with Clint yelling a quick, _‘He’s at S.H.I.E.L.D.! Save him from Hill!’_ , as he passed in a blur, Steve jumped on his motorcycle, fumbled with his helmet, before gunning in through mid-day traffic. The horns and curses that followed him as he cut off at least six taxis in as many minutes was worth it to Steve as he squeaked through a light that had turned yellow.

Haphazardly parking his bike (it was _mostly_ within the parking lines), Steve bounded up the stairway to the government agency’s entrance. Instead of using his swipe card for entry, which he had forgotten in his wallet, Steve vaulted over the turnstiles and jogged over to the bank of elevators. Going to the pair of cars that only went to Fury’s floors, and the hidden Starbucks located on the level directly below the director’s office, Steve pressed the “up” button rapidly until the car started dropping from the 53rd floor.

“I wanted to congratulate you on making Stark see reason.” Coulson said from next to Steve as the elevator arrived, appearing as if from thin air with a clutch of folders in one arm and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. As the car doors opened, he followed after Steve, much to the younger man’s dismay.

“He was very eloquent this morning.”

Steve drew his eyes away from the numbers above the doors, “What?” Last time Tony had spoken to Phil there had been a gunfight and three-million dollars in damage to the cafeteria.

“Stark. He was very eloquent in his press meeting this morning. Emotional, if I had to choose an adjective to describe him.” Colson looked over with a small smile, “You know he went on _Good Morning America_ for you? Almost made Lara cry this morning with the nonsense he was spouting about defeating enemies with true love and rocketing to the stars hand-in-hand. Al Roker predicted _‘sunny weather and sunnier dispositions’_ when Stark popped up during the weather segment of that show and stated his never-ending love for you. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Tony and I…made amends last night.” He flushed when Coulson arched his eyebrow in inquiry. “He realized he was an idiot and that I was even more so for wanting to keep him as _my idiot_. Idiots have to stick together.”

“I’m sure you made a very good argument.”

“I called him an asshole.”

Colson cleared his throat to cover a laugh. “That is…not as surprising as I thought it would be. I thought there would be more you throwing Stark against the wall roughly to have your way with him.” At Steve’s expression, a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity, the other man elaborated, “You and him had a very harlequin romance. I actually expected at least one picture to pop up with Stark in a ripped bodice draped over your arm. There was a betting pool going around. Odds were three-to-one that Stark was going to throw away the relationship in some sort of outdated way of preserving your modesty.”

“S-sir?”

“Tiffy and Susan in WMD won the pool.”

The elevator dinged softly as if arrived and Coulson gave a nod to Steve as he stepped out, helpfully hitting the next floor button with a knuckle as it seemed Steve wasn’t responding for the moment.

“Go easy on him, Steve,” Coulson said as the elevator doors began to close, “Tony has more friends than he knows. We’re not as forgiving as him if this happens a second time.”

He didn’t shiver at the subtle threat, but it was a close thing as the car traveled up one more floor to the office of the director and his deputy director.

Steve walked toward the pair of huge mahogany desks that flanked the door to Fury’s office. The one on the left, who looked fairly bored for being one of Fury’s secretaries, had a headset on and was answering the phone; though every call she took was put on hold immediately. The other, younger and slightly more primped, seemed more interested in typing rapidly on her keyboard while simultaneously frowning at her chipped manicure.

Neither woman looked up as Captain America came within speaking distance, not even glancing from their work when the dark wood door opened and a ruffled looking Tony Stark in full businessman attire exited the office.

The man looked down at his phone in frustration, fingers dancing across the screen in an attempt to answer an email. His brown hair was mussed, as if a hand had passed through it numerous times, and one cheek looked smaller as he chewed on it in thought. His eyes looked unfocused as he walked forward, only concentrating on the stupid phone that wouldn't dial in his hands.

This concentration was ruined as soon as a pair of scuffed UGG boots came into sight. The ugliest pair of shoes that ever existed that had often been found abandoned in the kitchen where they could be easily tripped over in the middle of the night. A pair of shoes that would never be replaced, repaired or thrown out because they had been the first gift from a grumpy billionaire to his much younger super soldier.

"Shit…" The word took its time being pushed out from behind his teeth. He looked up slowly and saw the blond he had abandoned in bed earlier this morning glaring at him in annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" Tony looked to make sure of the secretaries hadn't looked up from painting their nails. "Come with me!" He hissed, pulling Steve after him. Another look in both directions down the hallway, while yanking a random door open quickly, Tony shoved the taller man inside.

"You couldn’t wait until I got back?” Tony hissed, pushed up against the door in the cramped janitor's closet. "What are you doing here?” He repeated after realizing the answer wasn't given, poking at Steve as if he couldn’t understand why Steve would in in S.H.I.E.L.D. when there wasn’t a mission debriefing.

"I came to find you." Blue eyes moved down more than a few inches to stare into a pair of narrowed and fully pissed-off eyes. “You weren’t there this morning”

"What do you mean? Steve, I was…I was going to come back after I settled things? That’s what we agreed, that’s what you wanted. For me to apologize and grovel to the media, to let them know that I was in the wrong, and that we’re back together. Isn't that what you asked me to do?"

Steve grinned faintly as his hands took control and eased their way onto the business suit-clad hips opposite his, pushing Tony further against the door, "That’s not what I meant last night. I didn't want you to leave. I wanted to talk to you in the morning but you were gone."

A brief pause of silence, then Tony snorted at the idiot. "I was trying to come home by ten. Was hoping you’d still be asleep. God, Steve, Nat told me you didn’t sleep for almost eight days straight. I’m surprised you’re even moving, much less storming over here to get me.”

“I needed…needed to make sure.”

"Well, you can be sure that I’ll be home later. Now, you’ve got to go back and sleep and I have to handle the rest of these meetings. The quicker you leave, the quicker I can get this done and join you." Tony said, giving a quick kiss to Steve before pushing away the groping hands on his body and turning to exit the closet.

Steve grinned when the hands fruitlessly jiggled the door latch.

"It's locked. Why is the door locked?” Tony screeched, looking back at Steve who wasn’t concerned.

"It's locked?"

"That’s what I said, Steve. The door is locked. Why would a janitor closet lock from the outside?"

This was _most definitely_ not part of Steve’s plan. He would make sure to deny it later when asked.

"A-ah! Steve!" Tony stuttered when a pair of hands moved up the front of his chest, smoothing against the silk of his vest and shirt, "What the hell are you doing?"

"You liked it when I did this," The super soldier whispered, gently sucking on the back of his throat. Tony was shocked at the movement that he didn't notice the buttons on his vest and then his shirt being undone or one of the hands slipping inside the gap. "And I think I remember something positive when I did-"

At his nipple being twisted, a little more harshly than necessary, Tony squirmed around so he was facing his assailant. "Steve. Not here. Seriously. There are two women, literally sitting outside most likely listening in, and Fury has the ears of an elephant from being half blind. Half an elephant, most-ah!"

"Do you ever learn?" Steve whispered into Tony’s ear as his hands made quick work of the brass button of his pants, dipping one into the pants that pooled around pale hips. "I can never resist a challenge." The smile faded for a second in shock only to return twice as strong.

God, he _loved_ Tony.

"You didn’t.” He grinned while running the back of one hand through the curls, the other moving to knead a thumb into the tense stomach muscles and the delicate bellybutton.

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“You’ve been walking around here in no underwear, wearing these pants that leave nothing to the imagination.” Steve panted as he stared down at where Tony’s undergarments should have been, tracing the edge of the area with his pointer finger in wonder, “When we get home, you’re going to-

Tony painted Steve’s upper lip with heat, lapping at his lips until he was able to force his way in for a sloppy kiss.

"You talk too fucking much." He grumbled, his fingernails biting through Steve's thin t-shirt as he repeated the action. His breath came easy, softly, only hitching when the blond accidentally dug a thumb a little too deep into his hipbone.

A bite on the broad throat in retribution caused both large hands to ricochet up to Tony’s shoulders, pushing the vest, shirt and suit jacket down to his elbows.

Steve stared down at Tony’s chest as if he had never seen it before. And maybe he hadn’t ever seen it so clearly, his memory blurry considering last time Tony had quickly taken the lead and Steve had been too busy breathing through his nose to fight off his third orgasm of the night. One of his fingers finally moved, making a slow trail from Tony’s clavicle to around the lower curve of his left pectoral. His other hand mirrored the movement, following the curve of the arc reactor briefly, passing over the slamming heart of the engineer to stop on a nipple.

Tony held fast as Steve explored his chest with the lightest of touches, circling the one nipple that had been abused earlier, tracing the widest, jagged edge of the scar that was only a few centimeters from his heart, outlining the dip created from his collar bone. He heard Steve's breath coming faster, feel the moistness covering his neck where the head was buried.

Then he bent his head to take his nipple into his mouth.

"S-Shit! Steve!" Tony forced his hands to move, attempting to stop the big blond head from traveling to the other nipple. "We need to stop now! I'm going to kill you!"

"You need to take off your pants." Steve replied, continuing to pant and lap against the man's neck, ignoring the death threats being mumbled under his partner's breath. "You need to listen to me and take off your pants."

A brief scuffle happened, with Tony trying to keep his clothes on. It didn't matter that he wasn't wearing underwear, the janitor's closet they were in was not sexy and not sanitary and he was not going to get a hand job in here, what was _wrong with you, Steve?_ Steve argued that he wasn't getting a hand job, and the closet was very romantic, and he just wanted to talk about what Tony had done this morning on multiple television shows, if he understood Coulson correctly.

Steve bent so he could mouth at Tony’s jaw, sucking on the bristles of his bead as he quickly undid his jeans so his cock could bounce against Tony’s and leave a streak on the ugly orange t-shirt he was still wearing. "Talking isn't bad," He said, hand reaching down to grab hold of them both, giving a cursory rub up and down to watch Tony’s eyes roll back for a moment. His long fingers caressed the bare skin on the other man back, hand dipping to trace the swell of his behind, "You love talking. You can never stop talking. Talking is what got you in this mess in the first place.”

Rather than allowing Tony to respond, which no doubt the smartass would, Steve released their dicks and grabbed the back of Tony's legs to hoist him up. He smiled when Tony went limp at the actions, continuing to work on the hickey in front of him that would be sure to get the ex-CEO in trouble later in the day.

Of course, what man wouldn't be smiling when a sexy man wrapped his legs around your waist?

Then again, things could always be better, like slamming the back of your partner against the door when they dug their nails into your chest in impatience.

"Get to work." Tony smirked at the blue eyes that were even with his own due to his new position. "I don't have all day to wait for you to forgive me."

Tony choked on the rest of his snide comment when Steve stroked his middle finger along the seam between his ball sack and anus. His legs widened even more, allowing the blond to move closer and their cocks to bump. He glanced down and watched a small stream connect the two, a bead of his precum having leaked out and covered the bottom half of his dick.

When the first finger sank in, Tony he didn't even notice; too busy pushing against Steve’s one arm to see if he could make it budge or make Steve flex The second finger increased the tension but wasn't anything new. The scissoring was underscored with Steve's thumb massaging up against his perineum.

Tony was about to ask, scandalized, if Steve brought lube in S.H.I.E.L.D., when, instead of the usual three fingers after two, Steve simply thrust in while the teeth of his jean's zipper rubbed roughly against the underside of Tony's dick. A-ah! Warn a guy! Fuck!"

"You like it." Steve whispered into his ear, his words sounding strained as he sheathed himself and resisted the urge to begin slamming into the scowling man squinting at him, waiting for the smaller man to adjust to the abrupt intrusion. “You like it because you love me,” he singsonged, hiding his dopey smile in Tony’s sweat-smeared chest.

Tony moved one of his arms down and pushed away the hand gripping his hip, letting his entire weight settle on the older man and for gravity to force Steve as deep as he could. "Yes, I love you,” he hissed, “but right now, I’d _like_ you much more if you decided to do this when I woke up and not in a janitor’s closet!” He tried to pinch Steve in the stomach, his scowl fading as his plan backfired and he touched his own cock, which caused him to stiffen and groan in chorus with Steve as he tightened.

"I get it. This isn't exactly roses and restaurants." Steve gave a shallow thrust, "And you're ridiculous, and high maintenance, and you’re always going to second guess us." He smiled when any retort Tony died when he hit that one spot deep inside, “But I do love you, even if you go behind my back to breakup with me, and then apologize on national television without telling me.”

Deep slide. Pause.

"Bastard. You weren’t supposed to know."

Back out.

"I have my sources."

Clenching of muscles on the tip of the penis still inside him.

"It was Coulson, wasn’t it?"

Hard thrust back in, making Tony's teeth snap together.

"Let’s not," Steve grunted, rolling his hips in a circle as he bottomed out, “Let’s not talk about Phil right now.”

Tony was going to kill him. He was going to kill him, throw his body on the cramped closet floor, and then finish this off himself while his cock stayed hard due to rigor mortis. In a non-demanding, non-frustrating, non-Steve manner that would end without the snarky comments.

Stroke, slide, pause. Stroke, thrust, a longer pause.

"Caaaaaap!" Tony whined, grunting in slight pain at the abuse his prostrate was undergoing with no relief in sight.

Steve sank in fast and deep, deeper than before, with the base of his shaft hitting against the smaller man's backside with a wet slap.

"Don't worry, Tony." He breathed into the ear near his mouth, taking the lobe and giving it a sharp yank. "I'm here." And then he sealed his lips against the pouting ones that had been cursing at him the entire time, setting off a chain reaction.

Tony came, spurting all over Steve's orange t-shirt with a muted curse.

He tightened around Steve as if he never wanted his cock to leave, resulting in the blond shoving his tongue into the other man’s mouth to continue thrusting as he burst and coated the inner walls of Tony in white.

Even after his cock went soft, Steve left it inside, feeling it begin to harden again as he gazed at the heavy, wet eyes of Tony trying to gauge if this was okay. The soldier almost started pounding into Tony again when a wet tongue drifted out to lick at a swollen bottom lip, but noises from outside reminded him that he was inside a closet. A janitor’s closet with Director Fury’s office located less than twenty feet away.

That was enough of a reason to lower Tony carefully to the ground, wincing as his penis slipped free, severing the string of cum connecting him and Tony with an absent minded hand and sticking the finger in his mouth to suck off the rapidly cooling liquid.

"Shit." Tony groaned, leaning against the door as he watched the blond tuck himself back in, zipping up quickly. He moved his hand through the small amount of semen that had splattered on his stomach, already cooling, and looked at the bigger amount on Steve.

"Take my jacket. It might be small but at least you'll be presentable for Fury." He shimmied his shoulders, grabbing the dark coat before it hit the floor and handed it over to his boyfriend. Tony couldn't help but smile softly when the other man couldn't seem to figure out how to put it on, remembering when he had to help Steve put on his tie whenever they went on expensive evening dates.

"Okay. I lied. I think I might like you a little." Tony murmured quietly, buttoning up his shirt, leaving his vest open, and ignoring the wrinkles that ruined the ironed creases in his pants, using this as an excuse to not look up at his ex-ex-boyfriend. Yanking his slacks up, and finding them presentable, he turned to the man who hadn't said anything since he came.

The brunet groaned at the stupid expression of joy on the blond's face. “Steve, you can’t go out looking like that. Fury’ll kill me for fucking his toy soldier senseless.” He stepped aside and gestured at the doorknob, smiling when Steve grabbed it on autopilot and crunched it in his fist. The door swung open easily and Tony stepped out into the hallway and its artificial light, ignoring the comment from one of the secretaries at his disheveled state.

"Go to your meeting." A sigh as Tony tugged his hand through his hair’s rats' nest, the other hand pulling at his suit that was ruined beyond reason. "Go yell at Fury. Defend my honor. Give me a call later, I guess. I have another meeting with Hill in a little-"

Tony turned and seemed about ready to sprint down the hallway towards the elevators just as Steve reached out and tangled his fingers with his.

“Hill can wait.”

Tony gave a small smile and tugged Steve towards the elevator. “I am going to be in so much trouble if I skip this. You know how she wants my head on a platter.”

“Give her a call later. Say it was my fault. She likes me,” Steve murmured, pulling Tony up for another kiss as they waited for the car to return. “I’d much rather be back in bed with you,” he said as he rested his arm over Tony’s shoulder and pulled him into a hug that smushed the smaller man against his chest.

Tony huffed, burrowing his nose into Steve’s clavicle, sucking at a spot of pale collarbone before answering, “If my boyfriend says I have to, than I guess I will.”

“Now you’re getting the idea.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was "technically" the end. I apologize for the really bad sex scene (I WILL GET BETTER BY WRITING MORE OF THEM).
> 
> There will be one more chapter after this. Will most likely involve vineyards, Janet Van Dyne and sleepy burrito Tony's.
> 
> Hopefully I can get it out in less than two years. D:


	8. Epilogue:  Puppies and Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy (I apologize for the smut/sex. I tried. So hard. But I don’t know if it’s actually good?)
> 
> My random thoughts while writing this (as also a mini-summary of this chapter for those interested):  
> Dog-blanket. A blanket made of dog.  
> “Groinal injury”  
> Seven doctorates!  
> Gross, domestic, happy, sex.  
> After gala sex.  
> Does sex after fisting count?  
> Scooped everything bagel with vegetable cream cheese and lox.  
> Janet van Dyne, you old dog!  
> Vineyard sex.  
> House sex.

\---

The sounds of the television echoed faintly through the penthouse as Steve closed the door, turning around to see Rhodey already walking towards the living room. Sighing, because Jim always made a straight path to Tony as soon as the engineer was nearby, Steve followed sedately behind after toing off his shoes near the front door. After this morning, he needed a little time away from the War Machine pilot.

Had to catch his breath after the two-hour brunch interrogation he just sat through. Not even never-ending mimosas curbed Rhodey’s enthusiasm for defending Tony.

“Ahhh, my brown turtledove, barging in to take advantage of little ole me,” Tony drawled from the other room as Steve approached, the television volume spiking as an explosion went off on its screen. “Please, please! The body is willing, Rho-Rho, but think of what will happen when Steve finds out? It’d be a scandal of the highest order!”

As Steve walked in, Brooklyn, no longer a small, chubby puppy, lifted her head and gave a single thump of her tail before she settled her large head back possessively on Tony’s chest. Her brown eyes followed Steve as he settled on the chair nearby, her body covering Tony from feet to mid-torso as a large living blanket. Rhodey, despite the indecent picture Tony’s words had painted, was nowhere near to ravishing the billionaire sprawled across the ratty couch. In fact, Tony looked exhausted, sprawled out on the couch with his head propped up on the couch’s arm, his eyes barely open to watch the newest James Bond film on the screen.

“You really shouldn’t let her do that,” Rhodey said as he crossed the room to grab a bottle of water from the tucked away mini-fridge, gesturing at the sprawling animal, “She’ll start doing it to everyone.” He finished, dropping in the recliner situated at the other end of the couch and crackling open the bottle to take a large drink. “She’ll become a menace.”

“Never. Brooky’d never become that. She’d get the face.”

“What?”

Tony gestured with the hand holding the remote, the other deep in the fur around the German Shepherd’s neck, at Steve who was frowning at the dog but obviously holding back a comment along the lines of _‘Off the couch, off Tony, sit, stay, stop spreading fur everywhere.’_

“Last time he made her leave during cuddle time she cried for thirty minutes until mommy snuck her back up.” Tony shoved the remote between his side and the couch so he could squish the dog’s face in-between his palms and rock it gently back and forth, “Because Brooky-wooky loves her mommy. Yes she does, she’s such a good baby!” In response to Tony’s voice, the dog started wriggling, tail thumping rapidly against the cushions as she crawled further up Tony’s body to try and lick at his scruffy goatee.

“Please don’t treat her like a baby,” Steve sighed and slumped against his chair, rubbing his hand against his face. “She already knows she’s got you wrapped around her paw. Can you at least talk to her like an adult?”

Tony huffed and squirmed downward on the couch until his torso was completely underneath the dog’s body, digging his toes into the fleece that had been abandoned at the end of the couch. “She’s my baby, Steve. My little baby,” he said, rotating his face so he could stare at his boyfriend with large brown eyes, “I can’t abandon my baby to the cold floor.”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Steve stretched out a hand towards the brunet, tapping a knuckle gently against Tony’s forehead so he’d stop shooting cow eyes at him, “At this rate she’s going to be spoiled just like her mommy.”

Steve grinned dopily when Tony lifted his arm so they could link their fingers, crossing the small space in between the couch and the chair. “And that’s why we need to keep up with her manners,” Steve continued softly, sitting up in the chair so he could press as kiss to the back of Tony’s hand before releasing it. “She’s almost two years old. She has to start acting it, especially with all those obedience classes we paid for, even if she’s your baby.”

“If you say so, dear,” Tony said, wrapping his arm around Brookyln’s neck and hiding his huge grin in the thick fur, but not pulling his hand away. “But you know she’s _our_ baby.”

“Of course.” Steve replied easily, leaning further out of his chair so he could bump Tony’s forehead with his lips while checking the dark areas under the other’s eyes. He smiled when he noticed the black circles from earlier in the week had faded slightly to a light grey, obviously from the small naps Tony had to take while trapped under the large dog. “Who could ask for a better mommy than Tony Stark?”

Tony looked up and the grin turned softer, more private. “Who could ask for a better dad than Steve Rogers? He is the best, you know,” he responded, tilting his head further so his lips could brush against the corner of Steve’s, which slowly turned into a slow tangle of tongues, and Steve’s other hand, the one not still holding onto Tony’s, lifted to fist into brown hair and-

Brooklyn gave a loud whine, pushing her head in between her owners to eagerly lick at Steve’s face.

Steve pulled back abruptly, choking at the dog breath exhaled directly into his mouth, and wondered how Brooklyn had _licked his eyeball-oh God slobber was dripping down his neck, how?_ As Steve tried not to gag while scrubbing at his face with his hands, Tony attempted to shush the dog that had started crying when Steve had abruptly moved away.

“On that note, I’m leaving.” Rhodey said to the room, loud enough to be heard over Brooklyn’s whimpers and the television. He muttered to himself as he pushed himself up out of the recliner, failing to mask the mild discomfort of being trapped in the over-stuffed piece of furniture, and gave a huge sigh of relief once he was standing once again.

“Not that I don’t think you guys are great, but I really don’t need to see this whole lazy kisses on the couch with the dog and the _domesticity._ ” Rhodey said the last word like a curse, dropping his empty bottle in the recycling bin as he passed by the kitchen. “If I wanted that much happiness in my life, I’d settle down with someone so I could make you two vomit when I made out with her on the couch at-“ He looked at his watch, “11:23 in the morning.”

“You’re just jealous,” Tony laughed as he pushed at Brooklyn who was crowding his end of the couch, trying to stop her from stepping on his face as she inched towards Steve. “You wish you could be all _lovey-dovey_ and _disgustingly cute_ with someone. That it’s _beautiful_. Isn’t that what you said to Nat the other day when we were on the boat?” Tony asked, referencing last weekend’s excursion to Shelter Island that had resulted in Natasha captaining the sailboat while Tony and Steve had cuddled most of the time at the bow with Brooklyn at their feet.

Rhodey sighed through his teeth, “Of course. Of course you bring that up! A guy just can’t be happy for his friends. No, no, he shows any little smidgen of happiness and it gets out and they ruin everything!” Rhodey grumped, throwing his arms up for good measure.

“You’re just jealous because I have a sexy blond who looks good in spandex with a great rack,” Tony sniffed at Rhodey’s dramatics, finally relaxing on the couch again as the dog settled between his legs. “I have the best relationship, and you wish you could have one just as perfect.”

“No.”

“Or,” Tony continued when he noticed the ruddy flush on his friend’s face, “Are you jealous because _you_ don’t have a blonde in spandex with a great rack?”

“Tony, you’re an idiot, I’ll see you tonight,” Rhodey suddenly blurted, face turning a darker red while quickly heading towards the entrance. “Steve,” Rhodey paused in his escape to frown at Steve, as if the other man was the reason the conversation had turned towards relationships, “Don’t fuck up.” he snapped, glaring at Steve while making the universal ‘I’m watching you’ hand motion before he stomped out of the room to spend the rest of the day alone to nurse his wounds

“We need to set him up with Carol,” Tony announced once the echo of the slammed door had quieted. “It’ll be great.”

Steve groaned as he stood, moving over to the couch and slapping a hand against Tony’s thigh so he’d move his legs up and make a spot on the couch for him, “I am not getting involved in your matchmaking schemes, especially with Jim,” he said, smiling when Brooklyn jumped off the couch at his presence to settle on the floor in her mushy pet bed. He patted her gently on the back as she passed and let his body sink into the cushions when Tony’s feet snuck onto his lap. He gave them a pat as well.

“Scheme? I don’t scheme, that’s a dirty word.”

“Remember Pepper and Happy?”

“That worked!”

“They both thought you were flirting with them and were disturbed that you were going to ask them for a threesome.”

“Oh.”

“And then there was that incident where you tried to get Bruce to go out with Natasha?”

Tony huffed, “I swear, I knew nothing about Bucky,” he paused and shuddered, “or Betty. They’re both so violent. Why are our friends so violent?” he whined, slouching down on the couch and pushing his feet at Steve until the other man started to massage them slowly.

“How about Peter? He’s married, Tony. Married.”

“Well, if he hadn’t been so sneaky with his identity back then, I wouldn’t have locked him in the closet with Darcy.” While Tony pouted, obviously putout from his lack of success as a yenta, Steve worked out the kinks in Tony’s foot while debating on if he could steal the remote to change the channel. A tired Tony tended to watch action movies or Spanish novellas, both things that made Steve’s teeth clench at the lack or over-abundance of plot.

“So what were you guys really talking about? I’m sure it was something scandalous.” Tony asked after a particularly loud explosion threw a tank across the screen.

“Not really. He was just reaffirming his position as protector of your virtue. Telling me about all the ways he could hide the body. The usual.” Steve grinned as Tony struggled into a poorly executed sit-up so he could pass Steve the remote, which Steve used to switch the channel to something more dignified than James Bond: the ever-classic Jurassic Park marathon on AMC.

Tony snorted at Steve’s choice but made no motion to steal the clicker back, instead squirming so the cushions were bracketing his sides. “You know, we can watch something that doesn’t have commercials? I’ve got Jarvis. He can queue us up any movie from the past century, you know.”

“It adds character, now shush, that girl you hate is about to start screaming at the raptors.”

They were ten minutes into the next movie before Steve realized only one foot was in his hands, the other having creeped into his lap. A few minutes later and Tony began his own massaging, rolling the arch of his foot against Steve as if in afterthought, his eyes still focused on the activities on the television. It was nice, a soft, pleasant heat that built as Tony continued his teasing, Steve rocking gently into it and sliding partially down the couch to increase pressure when he felt like it.

Then the t-rex roared, Tony flinched, and his foot ground down sharply.

“Ah, shit, Tony!” Steve hissed as he jackknifed up, holding onto Tony’s legs so the other man wouldn’t topple to the ground at the motion, arching his body so his half hard cock trapped against his thigh was freed from the heel of Tony’s foot. Brooklyn jumped from her bed to bark, skittering around the room to find an intruder, obviously wondering why the owner that was usually the level-headed one was suddenly shouting.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tony sat up, hands fluttering around Steve’s shoulders. He pulled his legs away, tucking them under his body, and attempted to unfold Steve’s body. “It’s that stupid mom t-rex. It’s always gets me when she starts attacking, and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it.” He whipped his head around when Brooklyn sent books on a nearby stand to the floor with her tail, “Brooklyn, crate!” He snapped at the dog, causing her to scamper down the hallway into the bedroom, turning immediately after to flutter his hands around Steve’s head, chest, and crotch.

“Give a guy some warning next time?” He huffed, one hand giving an experimental squeeze to the injured area. “I think you bruised it,” he said, flopping weakly against the cushions to allow Tony to hover unimpeded. “Don’t think the serum can fix that,” he joked weakly, rolling his head against the back of the couch, “Looks like we’ll have to be good, upstanding citizens and wait until marriage.”

“You only say things that hurt me,” Tony said, leaning over Steve so his bangs trailed against the other’s clavicle. “If we waited, I’d have to wear white and it’d clash horribly with my coloring.” After a moment of quiet consideration, Tony huffed and rested his forehead against Steve’s chest. “Did I really hurt you?”

Steve considered the ache that had almost disappeared, the warm weight of Tony that was almost in his lap, and felt something that had little to do with groinal injury.

“I don’t know. I might require some extensive medical care.” He murmured against Tony’s hair causing the other man to tense. “Might need to find a doctor. Who do you know here who is a doctor?”

When Tony raised his eyes they felt like fingers trailing up Steve’s body, reigniting the burn that had started during the foot massage. “Dr. Stark at your service. I propose kissing it until it feels better. Would that help, Steve?” Tony murmured the last bit against Steve’s lips, his body settling in Steve’s lap for a moment before sliding to the ground in a well-practiced move.

“I am a doctor you know,” he said again, looking up through his eyelashes. Dressed in Steve’s sweatpants and a stretched out t-shirt, kneeling at his feet, Steve could only nod dumbly in agreement. Tony reached out and the heat of his hand seeped through the denim as he toyed at the zipper tab. “Do you agree with my diagnosis?”

“Yeah”, Steve breathed after swallowing the lump of saliva that had pooled in his mouth, watching the zipper pull down in one smooth motion. “A fantastic doctor. The greatest doctor in a bunch of stuff.”

Tony hummed, ducking his head slightly so he could inhale deeply, running his nose up Steve’s boxer-clad length, finishing the move by propping his chin on Steve’s thigh to continue looking up. “What am I a doctor in?” He asked again, drawing his tongue across his lips obscenely as his one hand lazily followed the path his nose had created mere seconds prior, pulling Steve out of his jeans and pushing down the elastic of his underwear so he could roll his balls gently in one hand.

“Electrical engineering.”

Tony pressed slightly with the heel of his hand, smiling up at Steve when he grunted in response. “What else?” He asked, pushing a little harder so Steve’s dick was trapped against his stomach, a spurt of pre-cum now stickily trickling towards his navel. “Steve?” Tony prompted with his palm still flat against the underside of Steve.

“M-mechanical engineering,” Steve hoarsely whispered with eyes trained on Tony’s mouth as it approached only to withdraw, pulling a sad whimper from him, “And Applied mathematics.” His chest was like a bellows as Tony leisurely lapped at the very top of his cock, tongue running over bit of his abs since Tony still had him trapped against his stomach. He stared at Tony for a moment, taking in the kneeling man in front of him who was using his tongue to delicately clean his skin of pre-cum, and wondered what he had done to deserve this.

“Computer science.”

Tony let go of Steve as a reward, his cock springing away from his abs. Tony seemed to be studying the red, almost purple, color while Steve desperately tried to think of what the hell Tony had been studying to get a doctorate, oh God, what the-he had to know, it was on the tip of his-

“Aerospace Engineering.”

Wet heat engulfed his left ball as Tony took it in, sucking and toying gently with the heavy weight then following the crease of his ball sack up to the base of his cock. His toes curled into the carpeting when Tony stopped, the tip of his tongue wiggling at the dint at the base of his dick and sack, tasting him, and he lost his train of thought at the sensation.

The slight pressure of a tooth pressing midway up his shaft brought him back. Tony was obviously ready, since he had stopped playing with Steve and seemed to be seriously considering just swallowing him whole whether he answered or not. Two more, only two more, he could do this.

“Basket weaving.” Tony stopped a hairbreadth away from Steve’s cock, his eyes wide in amazement when he looked up.

“How to fuck did you-“

Steve grunted in frustration. “C’mon I’m bein’ good.” He grumbled in frustration, sliding into his Brooklyn accent while bucking his hips up slightly to smear the tip of his cock against the edge of Tony’s jawline, hissing when Tony’s facial hair scraped against the sensitive tip, “Stop stallin’ ‘cause I found out.”

“Fine.” Tony huffed, mumbling _‘fucking Galina’_ under his breath before continuing with, “Last one.”, hand holding Steve steady, mouth open and ready and so, so pink.

“P-phys-Fuck Tony!”

Tony hummed around the dick in his mouth, vibrations traveling up Steve’s spine at the action, and he bobbed his head down to feel Steve against the back of his throat prior to pulling up so he could run his tongue against the vein. Steve froze when Tony curled his tongue around his cock, then a needy and half-choked sound pushed through his clenched teeth.

Taking that as the compliment it was, Tony kept going. He knew he was good at giving head, endless others had said it in the past, but Steve had been the most considerate and _kind_ about it. Steve didn’t ever grab his ears, didn’t try to fuck his face unless Tony begged for it, and he didn’t even move most of the time unless Tony was trying.

And Tony was trying, using every trick in the book, doing every dirty, filthy thing with his mouth that he could, thumbing the inside of Steve’s thighs as he held the trembling legs steady when they started to close around his head. Tony flicked his gaze up, and Steve’s eyes were rolling back in his head, and when he finally gripped the back of his neck and thrust into his mouth, Tony had to fight to keep his lips sealed around Steve.

Tony spluttered, but couldn’t pull off, not with Steve having suddenly decided to use his strength to keep him in place, fingers in his hair. Tony made sure to keep eye contact as his hollowed cheeks bulged with the sudden spurt of cum, eyes watering at the volume shooting down his throat.

Steve could feel Tony’s tongue supporting his heavy cock, still hard, as his throat muscles fluttered against the head. It took several gulps to swallow it all, Tony’s Adam’s apple bobbing sporadically, and Steve shivered as Tony pulled back while sucking to milk that last bit.

Steve then raised a hand limply to the sweatpants tented obscenely across Tony’s hips, watching in a daze as Tony clambered into his lap, only to be pushed away softly. Fine. If Tony wanted to suffer a hard-on, Steve wasn’t going to stop him. He gave a little buck of his hips to settle Tony higher in his lap. It would just be their luck if Tony took a tumble backwards and cracked his skull like a watermelon while Steve was on an orgasm high.

Once Tony had squirmed into position, Steve allowed his mind to wander back to the big problem hanging out his pants. He was still hard, and he could have ignored it if he had just taken himself in hand, but with an eager Tony squirming in his lap, it would require some type of strategy to get what he wanted.

So distracted by imagining familiar soft, tight, heat, and how to get into it while not moving, Steve didn’t think twice as Tony approached him for a chaste, close-mouthed kiss, completely missing the sparkle of mischief in Tony’s eyes.

The press of lips, innocent aside from the spattering of cum in Tony’s goatee, was nice. Steve trailed his hands up and down Tony’s flank, tucking his fingers into the back of the sweatpants on his second pass so he could gently pet at the bare skin he found. Tony’s lips were soft. Tony himself was warm in his arms as he cradled Steve’s head tenderly in his palms, fingers rubbing gently at the space behind his ears. There were better things in life, Steve thought absently, but he couldn’t think of any while lapping lazily at the seam of Tony’s lips to ask for entry.

And then Tony opened his mouth, hands gripping Steve’s head so he couldn’t pull away, and it was horrible.

“Jerk!” Steve coughed as he wrenched his head away, which wasn’t as dramatic as he had hoped since he still had a steel grip on a laughing Tony’s hips, “You know I hate it when you do that.” He whined, gasping and grimacing at the bitter taste that had flooded his mouth seconds prior.

“And yet I keep doing it,” Tony cheerily said, leaning forward and rubbing his cheek against Steve’s while flicking out a tongue to lick Steve’s earlobe, causing Steve to hunch his shoulders in defense, “In fact, you might say I think it’s hilarious.”

Steve gasped in a deep breath, swallowed again to make sure all traces of the glob of cum Tony had forced into his mouth was gone, then smacked his lips. He knew he looked like he was about to throw up, but he hated the taste. “That’s the grossest thing in the world. Ugh. You suck.” He gagged and shot a glare at a still pleased-looking Tony. “Worse thing in my mouth.”

“Really?” Tony smirked, his face flushed and beaded with sweat, “The worse? I swear I’ve seen you spit out a piece of cheek muscle and a tooth during a fight. And you didn’t complain last week when I was coming down your throat. But obviously. The grossest. Of course. So true.” He shakily laughed when Steve manhandled him forward a little more so he had to balance on his knees.

“One: battle fluids don’t count.” Steve ignored the breathy _‘battle fluids’_ Tony giggled against his temple before Tony gave a small kiss against the skin in apology, “Two: I don’t mind when it’s you.

“And do you know why?” Steve asked while shuddering at Tony teasingly loweed himself against his still semi-hard dick.

Tony hummed distractedly, draping his arms over Steve’s shoulders to rest against the couch back as he rubbed his still-clothed cock against Steve’s stomach. “I’m sure I can guess.”

“Because I love you.”

“Because he loves me.” Tony replied sweetly, arching his back Steve could guide his cock through the space between his spread ass cheeks. “And I love him.”

Steve’s fingers danced down the legs that were braced against his hips, traveling up to trace Tony’s wiry back muscles as he continued thrusting slowly into the void, ignoring the burn as the fabric rubbed along to top of his shaft. “Do you know why I love you, Tony?”

“Is it because I do this?”

Tony shifted again, a languid roll that pressed him against Steve from hip to shoulder. Steve’s hands reversed direction, and Tony quaked as he held the positon, legs trembling as Steve pushed a finger into his cleft. The other hand braced his hip, making sure Tony didn’t move, and he stared up at Tony’s raw-bitten lips as his cock ran over the back of his own fingers, a brand of heat.

“Not really. A nice perk, but not why I love you.”

“Is it because I have a perfect ass?”

Steve took the opportunity to push down Tony’s pants in the back so his hands could frame the bouncy, soft, so easily marked, ass, pushing the cheeks together so he could push through the tightness he needed and relish the drag of skin on skin.

“Steve?” Tony stiffened when he was held in place and the other’s cock caught on his dry hole. “H-honey cap?”

Steve grunted deep in his throat, digging fingers into the junction where ass met thigh-“I love you because you’re _mine_.”-and he forcibly picked up Tony only to slam him back down into his lap, no longer moving himself but instead choosing to move Tony.

Using him like a life sized fuck toy, Tony shivered in delight, rocking back and forth a few times to try and get pressure on his own cock that was screaming at him, but a growl from Steve had him meekly allowing himself to be dropped into his super soldier’s lap once again. Hissing softly at the sudden bite of the jeans’ zipper against his balls, Tony tensed his arms around Steve’s neck and futilely struggled against the other man’s grip in a desperate plea for more friction.

“Hold on.” Steve grunted, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist. The sweat made it tough to get a grip, especially once Tony’s shirt rucked up and exposed his back to the cold air of the room, but with some effort Steve was able to shift Tony closer while holding one ass cheek apart so he could keep thrusting up.

Just to ensure he still had the upper hand, Tony clenched when Steve pulled him down, squeezing the erect length tight between his ass cheeks, and Steve bit back a curse as he came again, strips of semen coating Tony’s lower back. The stream dribbled down his back and Tony just knew Steve’s cock was probably drooling, but he couldn’t turn around to look, feeling Steve’s hands rubbing the sticky mess into his skin as if to mark him.

Tony smoothed down his shirt and ran his hand through his sweaty hair, trusting Steve to keep from falling over onto the floor when he leaned back. Sure he was still hard, and now his bare ass was damp, but sometimes Steve got like that when he was stressed, and Tony could take care of it in the shower easy-

Steve rolled them over and Tony felt the sweatpants get tugged down even more, the front still covering his straining cock, and he gasped into the cushions as Steve rutted against his ass. Tony tensed, where was the condom, where was the lube, they didn’t have time-and Steve shoved his cock through his semen-damp thighs.

“Fuck!” Tony moved his hands out from in front of him to push against the back of the couch and into Steve, then tightened his thighs and moaned when Steve's cock rubbed against the skin behind his balls. The light from the arc reactor mutely shone through the t-shirt and reflected back onto Tony’s features.

Steve mouthed at Tony’s nape, tracing the hairline briefly with the tip of his tongue, biting down when Tony squirmed. “Later, you’re going to fuck me for real.” He punctuated the point with another thrust, blinking away the sweat only to rub his face against the collar of Tony’s shirt. “And I want my ass to be as red as your thighs are. Right. Now.” He grunted, letting go of Tony’s hip so he could run his hand up Tony’s shirt so he could twist viciously at the pebbled nub.

Tony's arms just gave out, and he’s pushed into the cushions, his orgasm rushing through him like a punch to the gut, but Steve didn’t stop.

There's nothing leisurely about the way he touched Tony now. No buildup, no slow exploration. He braced himself against the couch with one hand as the other clamped onto Tony’s thigh to keep him tight, to stop him from moving, and it’s too tight, too much, but, God, Steve can’t stop when Tony’s like this. So warm, and tight, and _willing._

Tony, knowing Steve’s close, hoping Steve was close, squeezed his thighs even closer together, and Steve let out a little frustrated grunt at the sudden friction. He was still making the little grunts when he finally came, painting the inside of Tony’s sweatpants, which were still covering his cock, white.

"Oh, God," Tony whined, “Steeeve. Why?”

“Cum in my mouth gets cum in your pants.” Steve replied, pulling back to dotingly examine Tony’s red ass and matching thighs, giving them a caress before covering them with the pants. He reached around to give a squeeze to the oversaturated material clinging to Tony’s soft cock, savoring the heat and soft resistant. Fondling for too long gets another sad whine so Steve sat up to stretch for the tissues that were on the nearby table.

The couch is barely salvageable and they’ll have to turn over the cushions before any of the other Avengers are allowed to visit again.

Steve ran a tissue briskly over himself after he cleaned up Tony as well as he could, tucking himself back into his pants tenderly when he finished. Three times before noon was pushing it even for Steve, he thought, standing up on shaky legs to throw the tissues in the garbage. Last time he had forgotten to do so Brooklyn had eaten them and it had been a very awkward vet visit.

“Remember, we have that thing tonight.” Tony mumbled drowsily when Steve returned and gently lowered himself onto the piece of furniture, “Can’t make Pep angry,” he finished after a yawn, nodding off quickly squirreled against the back of the couch.

Steve pulled Tony’s back flush against his chest and relaxed into the cushion as he cuddled his boyfriend. “J.A.R.V.I.S.? Set an alarm to wake us up two hours before the car arrives.” A small beep answered, the A.I. overly conscious of making sure Tony didn’t reawaken, and Steve remembered at the last moment- “Can you let Brooklyn out? She’s in the bedroom and I don’t want her peeing in the closet again.”

The bedroom door down the hall clicked open, thanks to J.A.R.V.I.S., and the sound of nails against the floor abruptly ended when the dog reached the carpet. Looking over his shoulder, and seeing the puppy eyes he expected, Steve sighed and pulled Tony a little closer to his chest so he could create more space on the couch. “Come on,” he said before Brooklyn could start whimpering, the dog jumping up to settle against Steve’s back, squishing Tony further against the back cushions. “Don’t tell Tony.” He muttered to both the dog and A.I.

They had just enough time for a quick nap and showers before the gala, he thought, looking at the clock against the wall.

Perfect.

\---

“We did really good tonight, didn’t we,” Tony asked as he leaned against Steve, tucking his hand in the bend of Steve’s arm and allowing the other man to take most of his swaying weight as they rode the elevator up. “I mean, we always do good, but today we really, _really,_ did good. Like, better good than we usually do.”

“And you’re drunk.” Steve said, turning so he could bump his lips against the side of Tony’s head as he pulled him closer in the elevator. “You only become so eloquent when you’re three sheets to the wind.”

“’m not, only had two all night; too tired to drink. Had crazy meetings the last couple of days and-and,” Tony yawned before rubbing a hand down one side of his face, “every time I take a nap it’d get interrupted by Brooklyn.” Steve smiled at the lazy squeeze Tony gave his ass, “Though the nap we had earlier today was fantastic. Five stars; would do again.”

“And it had nothing to do with the fact that I may have moved the couch a foot with your face this morning?”

“We should really think of getting a different couch fabric.” Tony rolled his head so his face was pressed into Steve’s chest as the elevator doors dinged cheerfully to announce their presence to the penthouse floor

As Steve unlocked the door, Tony limply draped against his back mumbling under his breath, he quietly shelfed the happy idea of Tony plowing him into the covers. He was obviously tired; there had been a lot of people who had clamored for his attention at this party, and even Steve felt a little exhausted when he double-checked the time with his phone.

The scrambling of nails on hardwood floor and tile echoed slightly through the penthouse as Steve closed the door, turning around to see their dog standing and waiting at the entryway.

“Aw, Steve, look at our baby. Waiting up just to make sure we got home okay.” Tony turned so he could look at Steve, who hanging his keys on the wall. “Isn’t she the best baby?”

“Of course, beloved,” Steve asked absentmindedly, walking over to Tony to take his wallet and phone to place them in the small bowl located near the door along with his own wallet. “She’s the best baby dog ever.” Looking at his phone one last time, and the message that was blinking in the corner, Steve smiled as he powered it down and tossed it next to Tony’s. “Was she good, Jay?” Steve asked, eyeing a limping Tony as he entered the living room Brooklyn looking from owner to owner as she debated who to follow.

“Ms. Kate and Ms. America arrived at approximately 20:30 to water and walk Miss Brooklyn. During that time she only ate three hotdogs from the kitchen table and chewed one of Ms. America’s shoes.” There was a small pause, “As per usual, Ms. Kate fed the hotdogs to Miss Brooklyn and Ms. America did forget to take her shoes off at the front door, so it was to be expected.”

  
“That’s my good girl. Ugh, my feet are _killing_ me. Need to get these stupid things off,” Tony grumbled as he hobbled over to the couch, Brooklyn giving a small woof as she trailed behind, leaving Steve to stop in the kitchen first to grab a glass of water and a couple pain killers before following. Dressed impeccably in matching suits, ( _‘Oh god, you’re one of those couples,’ Clint had wailed when he first saw them_ ), Tony still wore the lifts whenever they were out in public to boost him slightly past Steve’s shoulder.

“I don’t know why you still wear those,” Steve said, handing off first the pills and then the glass of water while Tony leaned back, one hand stroking the soft fur on Brooklyn’s head. “I mean, everyone knows you’re short.” He leaned over with a grunt to grab Tony’s legs, swinging them into his lap as he perched on the couch. “It kills you when we’re out too long.” He picked at the laces and pulled the dress shoes off, cradling the stiff feet in one hand.

Tony shrugged and slouched further down. “It’s expected. The sky is blue. Fury is angry. Tony Stark is slightly taller than Pepper Potts.” He grimaced as Steve worked at a knot, “You should really be bugging Pepper about this. If she decided to wear flats like a normal person I wouldn’t have to have this ridiculous shoe fight with her each time we go out.”

“And it has nothing to do with your vanity,” Steve teased, “Nothing at all to do with you complaining about being the shortest person on the team.” His hands flexed against Tony’s feet and he shooed away Brooklyn when she began licking at Tony’s ankles. Tony snorted, a tiny sound, and Steve turned with a wistful grin to take in the other man who was barely keeping his eyes open.

“C’mon. You’re tired. Let’s get to bed.” Steve stood with a grunt, “Do you need me to carry you?” He asked, “Might be easier.”

For the briefest moment, Tony looked about to argue, ready to fight with Steve, but he deflated against the couch with a groan. “No. I’ll get ready for bed. Got to stretch these out before they fall off.” He flapped his hand at Steve, who had reached forward to grab his arm, “Go take care of Brooklyn. I know you love her just as much as I do.” Once that was done, Tony levered himself up using his hands on his knees, and then wordlessly made his way out of the room and towards the hallway where the bedroom was located.

Steve stayed put and listened to the sound of socked feet shuffling against the hardwood floor that was accompanied by Tony’s soft groans. It would take time for Tony to get himself situated, especially while he was still in pain, which left Steve to take care closing up before coming to bed; most pressingly being Brooklyn, who no doubt would want to follow Steve towards the bedroom when they were both together.

Clicking his tongue, he made his way back into the kitchen. Brooklyn whimpered pathetically, probably already sensing what was going to happen, but she still trailed after Steve obediently. “It won’t be long,” He said, reaching on top of the refrigerator for the bag of treats and pulling out a couple greenies, “Mommy’s tired and daddy’s tired, and J.A.R.V.I.S. will let you out.” He explained while feeding one after another to the dog slowly, making sure she finished chewing before he gave her the other.

“Brooky, stay,” Steve commanded, before he hurried back into the living room, and secured the small gate that stretched across the kitchen entrance, a throwback from when Brooklyn was a puppy and was only allowed in the kitchen until she was potty-trained. “Stay.” He repeated, ignoring the high pitched whimper that pulled at his heart strings when the lock electronically clicked into its port on the wall.

Despite feeling bad about locking _‘their poor baby in the kitchen’_ , Steve didn’t budge at the sad eyes aimed his way. Last time Steve hadn’t made sure to secure the dog, or ordered her somewhere, she ended up wandering the penthouse looking for attention. This had led to a memorable moment when Brooklyn had licked at Steve’s feet mid-coitus, causing him to collapse on Tony while he was balls deep.

Walking back through the living room, Steve noted the distinct lack of noise from the bedroom, which meant Tony was either asleep or sulking on their bed.

“Hun?”

Tony grabbed Steve by the suspenders that outlined his chest and led him forward, running his hands up and down the straps, and then pushed Steve onto the bed in an unpolished move. There’s a pleased smile on Steve’s face as he looked Tony up and down, who was only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs and panting slightly. “And what’s going on here, Mr. Stark? I thought you were getting ready for bed?”

“Mmmmm, I got my second wind.” Tony muttered as he pulled Steve out of his clothing, removing his dress jacket and bow tie, fussing at the small buttons of the shirt momentarily before they slipped through the holes smoothly. Tony grumbled at the suspenders and cummerbund as he tossed them over his shoulder, “Too many layers, Steve, why would Pepper do this to me?” before going after the pants. Steve looked great in dress pants, they accentuated certain parts of him that should be appreciated, but they tend to get bunched up around his muscular legs after a long night on the town schmoozing gala attendees.

“Here, let me, at least hang them up,” Steve said, reaching for the pants where Tony was still messing with the hidden zipper. “I don’t want them to wrinkle.”

“Nope, I’m undressing you, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” Tony said, slapping away Steve’s hands, and it was incredibly gratifying when the dress pants finally stopped clinging to Steve’s huge thighs and were peeled away, and Tony absolutely, positively did not giggle at the Iron Man tighty-whities.

Before Steve could catch on and shove at Tony in embarrassment, his briefs were already getting dragged down slowly, revealing his thick cock. Steve’s breath hitched as his briefs were pulled over his ankles, spreading his legs and watching Tony in anticipation.

Steve was beautiful; a pink flush covering his entire chest down to his bellybutton, the rest of his skin pale and unblemished due to the super soldier serum, and Tony just wanted to make him feel incredible. Wanted to make Steve understand how much he meant to Tony.

Tony pushed Steve’s thighs apart, thumbs digging into the soft skin, and watched as Steve’s cock twitched under his gaze.

“T-tony,” Steve’s throat clicked as he swallowed, “I-you promised.”

And though Tony did promise that he would make Steve’s ass red, redder than the blush covering his body, he can’t help but go slow, keeping a firm grip on Steve’s thighs as he brought his face down to the dusky pucker, blowing a hot breath across Steve’s hole just to see him quiver and clench.

Steve trembled under Tony’s hands, muscles shaking as he held his position, eyes mere slits of blue that were watching Tony with a trusting and open expression on his face.

Steve could do with little preparation as long as Tony worked fast against Steve’s healing serum, but for this moment, this time, Tony didn’t want to go fast. He wanted to make Steve _feel._

He drew his tongue carefully around Steve’s rim, swirled around the edge to feel the texture. He moved slowly at first and then picked up the pace when Steve squirmed at how wet Tony was getting him, licking roughly just to hear the rip of Steve gripping too hard at the bed sheets. Tony became lost for a few seconds in the scent of Steve, chasing it with a pleased hum as Steve huffed out a breathy gasp, and it’s a wonderful sound, happy, and full of life and Tony wanted to hear him make it over and over again.

While debating on having J.A.R.V.I.S. start recording, sound only since that one time with video ended on the wrong server, Tony saw Steve reaching for his cock, flushed red and bobbing against his stomach.

“Shhhh, Steve, let me take care of you,” Tony whispered, gently taking Steve’s wrist and holding him down.

Steve’s eyes widened, panting, and he nodded in agreement, rolling his hips once to settle against the bed and to draw Tony’s eyes back to the task at hand.

Tony reached out a finger to Steve’s spit-slick hole, sliding in just the tip and them slowly to the knuckle, and Steve’s body sweetly accepted him, hot and tight and clinging around his finger.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart, opening so nice,” Tony said, admiring the spasm muscle as he traced the rim with a finger from his other hand. He pulled out so he could reach for the lube next to the bed, and Steve _clinged_  to him as he withdrew, and Tony wanted to push back in immediately just to see if Steve could take it.

Steve watched with half-lidded eyes as Tony slicked his fingers, lube glistening as it dripped over his hand in his haste, giving a hiss as one, and then two, slipped in, stretching Steve so it started to burn.

Tony pushed in a third finger, smiled softly as Steve finally broke and moaned out loud, his back arched with pleasure as Tony rubbed against his prostate with his cock twitching against his stomach. He leaned in to lick a wet stripe from root to head, sucking at the tip to see Steve hiss and rip the sheets he still had in his hands.

Tony twisted his fingers again against the little bump, harsher this time, and a spurt of pre-cum trickled over his tongue.

“You better not kiss me with that,” Steve said, looking down his body as Tony pulled back, mouth open to allow his saliva and the pre-cum drip back onto Steve’s cock.

“Well, with that attitude, never again,” Tony sniffed, tongue licking at his lips in an exaggerated manner to break the string of saliva and to make Steve’s laugh with his fingers still inside, “I try, so hard, so hard, dear, to be a freak in the sheets for you. To introduce you to all the debauchery of the 21st century, and this is the thanks I get?” A fourth finger rubbed around Steve’s puffy hole, toying, pressing but not pushing in.

Debating on if Steve could take it.

Steve tensed at the feathery touch and Tony gave his cock an apologetic lick, reaching for the lube to drench his hand and fingers that were still outside of Steve. He eyed his hand and turned it experimentally, watched the give and take of muscle. Maybe if he-

He sucked hard at Steve’s cock as he wriggled his fourth finger into Steve, rotating his hand so it slid slowly up to the widest part of his palm.

Steve was panting, alternating with deep breaths when he remembered, and when Tony glanced up from staring at his hand disappearing into pink heat, Steve had his head pressed back into the pillows with his eyes clenched shut. Perfect, Tony thought, swallowing Steve down as the pad of his thumb slowly traced the stretched hole. Perfect and _his_.

Tony popped off Steve’s cock, panting as he stared up at Steve, “R-ready?” Tony asked, swallowing the lump in his throat that tasted like Steve.

“Fuck, fuck, don’t ask, just do-“

Steve choked as Tony pushed his thumb in with the rest of his fingers; breath caught in his throat as his hole stretched further and further, past any point they had reached before. Tony worked the rest of his hand in, approaching the widest point.

Tony held still, sweating at the vice around his hand, and he couldn’t believe-that Steve would just _let him_ -and when he placed his other hand on Steve’s belly for reassurance he found it trembling like a leaf under his touch. They breathed in tandem, taking a precious few seconds, breathing in the scent of sweat, sex, and a little fear, and then in one smooth motion Tony twisted his wrist and his hand sank in completely.

Steve moaned loudly, his thighs spreading wider and flat against the bed, asshole clenching sporadically, and Tony stared down in shock as his hand vanished. He shifted and was acutely aware of his own cock standing proudly in-between his own thighs, and sat up enough so he could check to make sure Steve wasn’t in pain. Tony pushed his hand in a little further, taking in Steve’s strained features as he rolled his head against the pillows, feeling hot inner walls against his hand and slick lube trickling down to his inner elbow.

He slowly added a bit of shoulder, a single roll, and Steve’s lip parted as he panted hoarsely.

It was a slow fuck, Tony fisting Steve wide open. He dragged his knuckles firmly against the inner walls, feeling the serum trying to push him out but unable to, and he twisted so his fingers would rub against Steve’s prostate in succession and Steve almost screamed, his full body tensing at the sensation. Tony did it again, fascinated, his brow furrowed in concentration as a thin, needy sound came from the back of Steve’s throat.

There was no warning when Steve’s body suddenly clamped around Tony’s hand, Tony’s name ripped from his lips as he painted his chest and stomach with cum. Tony sat back on his heels, hand pinned in place, aware there was cum that dripped from his chin. Steve heaved, deep breaths expanding his chest to its full capacity as he came down from his orgasm even though his cock was still painfully hard against his stomach, asshole relaxing enough so Tony could cautiously slide his hand free.

“I…honey?” Tony licked at one of the bigger strips of white on Steve’s stomach, following it so he could press a small kiss underneath Steve’s jaw, “Are…you okay?”

“If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to hold you down and ride you.” The way it came out was almost a threat, a mixture of Captain America and someone who had been chewing glass.

Tony gaped at Steve, aware that he had been ignoring his own cock, and he couldn't fight the gasp as the image of him sinking into that wet, loose, hole with no resistance, burned itself into his subconscious.

“Are you-“

“Do it. Do it, do it, do it-Ahhhhh.”

“I love it when you’re bossy,” Tony breathed softly, fondly, his cockhead already past the usually tight ring, excess lube trickling out around his shaft, “Even better when you use the Cap voice.” He’s gently, overly gently, testing the waters, almost too gentle by Steve’s grunt and feeble shift. Fuck. Tony stopped to clamp his hand, the one that had just been _inside Steve_ , around the base of his dick to prevent himself from blowing right then.

“Come on. I can take it.” Steve grated out, voice still raw but rapidly gaining strength.

“Just give me a sec. I-“ Tony took a deep breath, “I just love you so much,” he mumbled tenderly, sinking in slowly, more leaning into the cradle of Steve’s body than actually thrusting.

Steve’s perfectly silent, still, not even breathing as Tony bottomed out, so Tony stopped to mouth at a nipple as Steve came back to him. Tony’s pretty sure he could feel Steve’s pulse through his dick.

When Steve started breathing in time with him, the sweat cooling on his body, Tony made sure to withdraw slowly, sliding right back in when Steve whimpered at the loss, flattening himself against Steve as well as he can over the larger body. Shaking legs were propped up to support Tony on both sides, Steve grunting in frustration when his attempt to wrap his legs around Tony was thwarted because his legs were too long, too big, and he couldn't’t get a grip.

The sigh that escaped him reverberated through Tony’s chest, Steve surrendering himself to Tony.

It’s not fucking.

It was never fucking.

He could stay like this forever.

“I need you,” Steve squeezed his thighs helplessly against Tony’s sides, “I need you to move.”

And Tony did because it was Steve asking.

He rolled his hips slowly, cautiously, burying his face in Steve’s chest. Kept his movements slow and small because the idea of hurting Steve after he’s given so much to him hurts Tony deep in his chest where the Arc reactor is located.

His teeth stuttered over a rock hard pectoral, mouth trembling as he took in one shaky breath after the other. Thought of the millions of things he should be saying. Thought of the billions of times he had let down Steve. Thought of how he only wanted to ask Steve one thing: for him to be his. Forever, and ever, and ever, until death do them part.

He fumbled for Steve’s hand and threaded their fingers together and wished that Steve understood what he was trying to say, what he hoped to ask one day.

But maybe he wasn't the only one with these hopes and dreams, because Steve pulled his hand in close, wrapped Tony up in his arms even though he was the one being fucked, pressed a small kiss to the back of Tony’s hand. It made Tony’s hips jump because he’s mindless, only thinking of Steve and nothing else and wondered if Steve was only thinking of him. The little sound Steve made when Tony pulled back to ready another thrust, the few seconds they aren’t in contact from tip to toes, crunched his heart in brief despair.

But it was okay, because Steve pulled him in even closer, his hands wrapped around his smaller frame, branding him around his shoulders and lower back.

The only things Tony could say were stupid, and ridiculous, so he swallowed them all down and simply rolled his hips against Steve’s counter-thrusts. Doesn’t mind how Steve wrapped only one leg around him to hold him tight, his knee pressed in-between Tony’s shoulder blades as he made sure Tony thrust in slow and deep. At this pace, they could both go a while longer; savor the feel of each other.

Tony reached down and fumbled at Steve’s cock between them. This he could do. A good stroke or two, hand pressed against Steve’s stomach, and he’s twitching in Tony’s palm. When he looked up to gauge his interest, Steve was staring down and biting on his lower lip hard enough for it to be cherry red.

“I love watching you cum,” he said because he really can’t stop himself this late in the game. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

He arched against Steve’s leg wrapped around him, tried a new angle, and the noise that came from Steve’s throat was absolutely a growl. Tony continued to stroke him in counterpoint to the little nudges against his prostate, and he grinned like an idiot when he heard Steve’s teeth grinding.

A few thrusts later, when Steve was coming for the second time, Tony’s hips jerked, pressing in all the way, and he could barely hold back when Steve sloppily clenched around him. He managed to jerk Steve through his aftershocks, catching the last little pulse from Steve’s cock on his thumb so he could bring it to his lips, his hips jittering against Steve’s as his own orgasm built.

“Please?” Steve asked.

And then Tony exploded, pumping once, twice, as he emptied himself into Steve.

He pulled out slowly, knowing Steve was sensitive and so good, and stopped for a second. Steve looked up at him. Nodded slowly. Reached out to trace one scar from the arc reactor up to his collarbones and then clasped his hand on Tony’s neck. Pulled him down to kiss Tony soft and slow.

“I can hear you thinking too much,” Steve whispered, lips brushing against Tony’s. “What’s my little genius thinking about?” He ignored the mess both their bodies were covered with and pulled Tony closer and onto his chest.

“Just happy,” Tony told him. He sucked Steve’s lower lip into his mouth, grinning goofily when Steve retaliated by wrapping his arms even tighter and sneaking in a sliver of tongue.

Steve rolled him, tangling their legs together, and ran his fingers through Tony’s hair. If Tony wasn’t so cozy and drifting, he’d butt his head against Steve’s hand and demand more pets. Maybe finally ask that question that had been lurking in the back of his mind for the past month or so. The question that involved tuxedos and rings.

"Go to sleep," Steve said with a kiss to his temple, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

\---

The next day, stepping out of the bagel store with breakfast for two, and a large cup of coffee (though the lady who rang up his order said 'caw-fee'), Steve grinned at the rumpled mess that was finally sitting upright in the passenger seat and the dog excitedly jumping around in the back seat. "I'm back. I got you coffee and whatever it was that you told me to get. I just gave the lady the piece of paper when she asked what I wanted,” he said as he slid into the front seat, avoiding Brooklyn’s mouth as she made a grab for Tony’s bagel. “It’s Sunday and you’re in the car.” He said when he saw Tony blinking at him in confusion.

"Where…we going?" Tony mumbled, face pressed against the window as one of his arms stretched out awkwardly towards Steve, but mostly towards the 32-oz Styrofoam cup that was giving off steam and a wonderful smell.

Steve handed off the cup, which felt close to boiling and was making his hand ache even with the insulation around it, and tried not to wince when Tony took a big gulp without pause. "Out east. Long Island. Rhodey mentioned something about a house in Mattituck and-“

“Oh yes, it’s very nice," Tony mumbled while struggling to free his other hand from the sleeve of the sweatshirt he had forcefully acquired from Steve a week prior. Once untangled he gestured for Steve to give him the wax paper wrapped sandwich while taking another sip of coffee, elbow pushing at Brooklyn’s chest when she attempted to scramble into the front seat and his lap.

Grabbing the fleece blanket at his feet to throw into the back seat, and making sure the coffee was firmly in the cup holder that popped out the center console, Tony let out a happy little sigh as he twisted back to settle into the car seat with his food.

He then looked at the other man inhaling his sesame bagel with mounting horror on his features, as if suddenly realizing what was happening. “Oh god. We're going on a daycation. I'm being led astray from my fantastic playboy life by an American icon."

"You didn't have a choice," Steve said, brushing his hands with a napkin and throwing his garbage into the paper bag the food came in. "This morning you were passed out in the bed. It was easy to get you in the car." He paused. "Natasha said you made a charming blanket burrito."

Tony frowned down at his own wax paper wrapped bagel, most likely wondering if Natasha was being serious or not when she told Steve that, before taking another sip of his black coffee. "If we’re going to Mattituck, we should get pie."

Steve waited, because Tony was prone to blurting out random phrases, and gave Brooklyn a side-eye when the dog shoved her face in-between the seats to pant heavily against Tony’s shoulder. If Tony started feeding her human food again, they were going to have _words_. When Tony didn’t continue, he turned on the car and backed out of the parking space and made his way towards the street.

Allowing a girl in a pink Escalade who was texting to pass, Steve increased the acceleration of the Audi and merged with the traffic traveling east. Once on the expressway, he looked over at Tony, then at the buildings lining the LIE, then at the car in the other lane that was going at least 80-mph by the way it whizzed past.

When Tony remained quiet, too busy ignoring Brooklyn’s sad whimpers and dissecting his bagel at the same time, Steve sighed. “Okay. Pie.” Steve really didn't want to be frustrated, but sometimes it was hard when Tony wasn't really awake yet and was just spouting off whatever bounced around in his head and expecting you to follow. “I’m sure we can stop at the supermarket and-“

"Yeah, no, Cap, we're getting Briermere pie." Tony said around a bite of scooped egg everything bagel with veggie cream cheese and lox, a monstrosity of present-day decadence that made Steve a little sick. "Jarvis used to get it every summer. Raspberry crème for the Fourth of July party and then a blueberry crisp, because it was my favorite, before I left.”

The wistful tone made Steve consider it, glancing at the clock to check against his mental schedule.

Tony sucking on his finger, smearing a bit of cream cheese around his lips and into his beard, sealed the deal.

The rustic-looking farm stand that was painted green and white baffled Steve as he pulled over into the crushed stone driveway. On this morning in the middle of summer, it was bustling, a line of nine to ten people trailing out a doorway, while others picked and fondled the vegetables and fruits spread out over the counter.

“This is the place?” Steve asked while parking the car, unclipping his seatbelt so he could grab Brooklyn’s leash.

“This is the place.”

Tony eagerly left the car, getting to the back of the line that led into a small room that was filled with pies, jams, and fresh bread, while Steve wandered outside among the herbs and fruits, Brooklyn sedately stepping next to him in perfect ‘heel’ position. An old lady urged Steve to try the corn as she shucked an ear for herself, and Steve ended up buying a little of everything, which ranged from a small case of raspberries, a half dozen ears of corn, and a beautiful bouquet of what he assumed was wildflowers.

Tony reappeared ten minutes later after Steve had pushed his purchases into the trunk with two pristine white cardboard boxes in his hands. He checked the position of the produce and their suitcases to make sure they wouldn’t tip over and crush the soft berries, and then looked over the top of the car where he could see Tony approaching. Brooklyn was already in the back seat and gave quiet, delighted woofs and wriggled as Tony came closer to the car.

“Got them. Apple crumble for my American sweetheart and a blueberry crème for me.” Tony kissed Steve on the cheek as he passed them over so they could go into the trunk as well. Steve swapped the pies for the recently purchased flowers and pretended to ignore the blush on Tony’s features as he slipped back into the front seat and turned on the car.

“You’re such a sap.” Tony announced as he flopped into his own seat, “The sappiest sap that ever sapped.” He craned back in his seat to give Brooklyn a quick pat before fastening his seatbelt, the flowers tenderly cradled in his lap.

“Takes one to know one.” Steve smiled as he pulled out onto the road and continued east. “Besides, would you have it any other way?” He held out his right hand and grinned when Tony took it unasked, settling them on the console.

“No.” Tony sighed and pushed his sunglasses onto his face with his other hand; flowers gently nestled between his legs. “But you’ve got to time these better, Steve. I’ve got a weak heart and these declarations of love are going to kill me one day.”

“I hope not,” Steve pulled Tony’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it as his eyes remained on the road. “I’m pretty fond of you.

“Any way, I have a favor to ask.”

Tony groaned. “I knew it. Just buttering me up so you could use my money to buy an island.”

Steve grinned and chanced a glance over, “This is actually for your fantastic CEO, who you did buy and island for, which she returned to the Dutch government. She wanted us to stop at Martha Clara vineyard to grab a couple of bottles of Riesling. Supposedly she no longer has to be afraid of this wine hoarder who kept buying bottles and then never drank them?”

Tony sniffed, “I was building my collection. Besides, wine is a travesty. It’s a trick to make you have more fruit.” He slumped into his seat, the plastic around the flowers crinkling at his actions, “We have pie to eat, though.” He grumbled, knees resting against the front dash.

“It should hold. Besides, it’s on the way. And think how happy Pepper’d be.” Steve pushed gently, trying to remind Tony of ‘playing nice’.

Tony grumbled and pouted, obviously not buying it. Onto the hastily put together Plan B; they had to get to the vineyard by noon or the whole plot would fall apart.

“Brooklyn needs to go to the bathroom. She didn’t go when we stopped.” The dog in the back perked up at her name being spoken and gave a happy tail thump.

“That’s not her pee-pee dance.”

“C’mon, Tony, it’s right there. On the corner with the cows. And they allow dogs.”

Tony groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes, but Steve had already turned into the parking lot of the vineyard that was packed to bursting.

“Ugh, it’s so busy; can’t we just come back later? Or tomorrow? It’ll be better on Monday.” Tony sighed as he stepped out the car, shuddering at all the empty cars parked much closer to the building. It seemed to be some type of party and Tony was just not interested. “Steve, you sure we can’t just push through? The house is only twenty minutes, tops, away.”

Steve had already clipped the leash on Brooklyn and handed it to Tony, who was still clutching the flowers in one hand like a stress ball, “It’ll be a quick in and out. I don’t want to leave you by yourself,” He explained as he walked towards the building, locking the car door with the remote, “Besides. Maybe you’ll have a fun time here today. Make some memories.”

Tony snorted in response, and was preparing a nasty reply when-

"Tony Stark, is that you?"

Steve turned at the same time as Tony, prepared to shield his body in case of it being paparazzi, but the brightening expression on Tony's face stopped him at the last moment.

“Janet van Dyne, you old dog,” Tony gave Steve Brooklyn’s leash and the bouquet so he could pull the petite brunette into a hug, “I haven’t seen you in forever! What are you doing here? Last I heard you were taking Milan by storm with crazy hems and headpieces.”

“Well, you know how it is with fashion, always changing with the times.” Jan gave a little surprised sound when she saw Steve hovering behind Tony, “And who is this hunk of fashion-faux pas?”

Steve coughed awkwardly, he didn’t think he was dressed too badly, and held out his hand after juggling the flowers momentarily, “Steve Rogers. I’m, uh-“

“Tony!” Janet squealed, “You didn’t tell me you had a fiancé!” She ignored Steve’s outreached hand to squeeze Tony in a tight hug and twirled him, which made the German Shepherd give a startled yelp at her owner being manhandled. Steve reached down to pat Brooklyn and make sure she didn’t jump up on the woman in the excitement. New people combined with new places and even a well-trained dog like Brooklyn could only be tested so much before reacting badly.

“I mean, I was just in the area with Hank-Hank, come over here,” She gestured at a man standing near a cow pen with her hand, “And I never expected to run into you! And find out-“

Tony laughed with eyes tight around the edges as he detangled himself from Jan’s arms, “No, no, Jan. Me and Steve aren’t, we’re only boyfriends.” He reached for Steve’s hand, sighing in relief when Steve instead pulled him into a one-armed hug.

“But you’re adorable! A cute display on contrasts! Tony, you’re so dark and tiny compared to Steve, who’s just blond, blond, blond,” Janet measured Steve with her eyes as the aforementioned Hank wandered over. “Honey bunny, aren’t they just perfect for each other?”

“I-yes?” Hank had the air of someone who had missed the question the first time around, agreeing so Jan wouldn’t ask him the question again. “They’re perfect?”

And even though he was saying it to appease Jan, Tony still had to fight down the blush.

“Anyway, we’re going to be late for a tasting, but come find me later,” Jan leaned forward to brush a kiss to each of Tony’s cheeks, “I have so much to tell you.” She held up her left hand to flash the diamond studded band on her forth finger before dragging Hank off to building that was almost filled to exploding due to the party that seemed to be going on inside.

Tony frowned in confusion at Janet’s back before he turned to Steve. “Is this an engagement party? Steve, is that it?” He questioned, taking back the dog’s leash but allowing Steve to keep the flowers, threading his arm through Steve’s as he began to follow Jan’s path. “It’s not Pepper’s is it? Oh god, we don’t have a gift, I’m the worse-”

“No,” Steve chuckled, cutting off Tony, “We’re not going to the party. Don’t worry, you haven’t forgotten anything.”

“You’re sure it’s not a birthday?”

Warmth radiated from Steve as he sedately walked next to Tony. They were a little early, a glance at his watch confirmed that, but he knew that the person he had scheduled this all with was prone to coming early to things and waiting around. Hopefully the other guest was behaving and not scaring any kids wandering around.

“We’re going in?” Tony looked untrustingly at the building, where the loud music was playing and people were seen dancing and drinking in the atrium.

Steve shook his head and led Tony towards the open field that was adjacent to the property. “We can grab Pepper’s stuff later. I have a surprise for you,” he said, managing to keep his voice even despite the nerves that tightened his vocal cords. “And I really want you to think about it before you answer.”

Oh god. Tony tamped down the urge to throw up. Steve was going to propose. He was going to propose to him.

He snuck a glance at Steve and despite Tony _knowing_ , Steve looked no different. He’s still cradling the stupid bouquet (he brought him _flowers_ , Tony should have been suspicious then!), and the arm he had wrapped around Tony’s shoulders had drifted down to sling against Tony’s hips. The summer sun was beautiful; a perfect day for a proposal, and Tony knew he was going to fuck this up.

“And I know it’s really unexpected, but I think we’re at that stage where it’s not too odd for it to happen.”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Tony tightened his hand on the leash when Steve reached for his pocket, tension racking up further when he just pulled out his phone to check his messages. Steve grinned at what he saw and lengthened his stride, now tugging Tony along to the back of the building where the vineyard was.

“I just want you to have an open mind when I introduce you to him. He needs us.”

Tony floundered at the words, confused, because that wasn’t a proposal, nothing close to a proposal, but Steve mentioned another him and he didn’t-

“Wha-who, Happy?” Tony looked from Steve to his chauffer and back again, only turning back to his friend when Brooklyn gave an excited bark and tug to the leash. Sitting next to Happy was a hulking block of a dog with the same coloring as Brooklyn but with shorter fur and more muscles, and it was staring at both of them with an unimpressed, but alert, look. “Steve, what’s going on?”

“His name is Manhattan. He is-was a military dog,” Steve explained as they moved closer. Brooklyn was whimpering softly and was at the end of the leash, not pulling but close enough that she was toeing the line of good behavior, and Tony was abruptly aware of how happy Steve looked. “Those long walks we’ve been taking for the last month or two? I’ve been introducing Brooky to him. They’re pretty good pals, despite how it seems.” He chuckled, a bright flash of teeth, when they were near enough that Brooklyn could give the other dog an excited sniff, which caused the other dog to shift awkwardly from paw to paw.

“His handler died while they were deployed and they said that he would get too edgy during firefight. One of the vets said he had PTSD.” He let go of Tony and handed him the flowers so he could crouch down near Manhattan, Brooklyn giving him an excited lick when he came in range, unaware of the stricken look on Tony’s face as he left him to play with the dog.

The dog that Steve wanted.

Because they were at the stage in their relationship where they could have two dogs instead of one.

It’s wasn’t a proposal, and Tony should be happy, but his chest it hurt like-No. He was angry. Angry at Steve, and the stupid new dog, and this stupid daycation with the perfect weather, and, just, why would he even think Steve would propose? Tony wasn’t usually that stupid, thinking of something that would never happen, but he’d been so happy the past couple months that obviously his mind would-

“-root canal, so he’s got the crazy looking metal teeth, but he’s very sweet and-honey?” Steve looked up from his position near the dogs and blanched at Tony’s flushed face, a mix of rage and despair warring for a moment before Tony seemed to settle on full-fledged rage.

“Really? This is what you-I can’t believe-“ Tony threw the flowers to the ground, aware he was probably scaring the new war-trained dog who suddenly stood at the abrupt motion, but he didn’t care. “You can’t just pull me out here, and get pie, and then, then, throw a dog at me and think-“ Tony grunted and spun tightly so he was facing away, arms crossed, and he wasn’t disappointed Steve hadn’t proposed, but disappointed that he _thought_ he was going to propose.

“Happy, give us a moment.” Steve ground out, shooting the bodyguard a tight smile as he grabbed Tony’s hand, wrestling it from his crossed arms, “I have to talk to my-my-“ He waffled for a moment and Tony felt his heart stutter, “I have to talk to Tony.”

Happy gave a baffled looking nod and took Brooklyn’s leash from Tony’s white-knuckled grip, stepped over the pulverized flowers and pulled the two dogs towards the empty bandstand nearby. Brooklyn followed sedately, used to Happy, but the other dog kept stopping to look back at an obviously distressed Tony and a cautiously approaching Steve.

Steve then dragged Tony down a row of vines to get away from the partying crowd who had started to spill out the doors, not wanting an audience for what appeared to be a genius’s meltdown. "What’s wrong? I thought…You were so happy this morning.”

“I’m fine.” Tony replied stiffly, staring at the ground, “Nothing’s wrong.” He kicked at a rock hiding in the grass, skipping a few steps so he could keep up with Steve’s longer stride. “Of course I’m happy.”

“I-I didn’t think you’d mind,” Steve said as he looked back, “I mean, I know Brooklyn is a bit of a menace sometimes, but another dog would calm her maybe.”

“Steve, I’m not angry about the dog.” Tony did not look up, concentrating on following Steve and definitely not making eye contact, “It’s not the dog.” He mumbled, aware Steve had stopped and turned to him, his thumb running over the back of Tony’s hand.

“Are we breaking up?

Tony blinked, thrown off-kilter again. “N-no. Steve.” He frowned, “I love you. You know that.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, fisting it at the nape of his neck, before going to his back pocket, “I know, but sometimes I feel like I ask for too much sometimes, and that you just give in to me.” He let go of Tony’s hand so he could brush his knuckles against Tony’s cheek. “I don’t want this to be one-sided.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’re not angry about me asking for the dog.”

“No,” Tony sighed, “Out of all the things I’ve asked for and you stupidly gave me, you asking for a dog won’t kill me.” He grimaced, “But if he’s not house trained, all I’m asking is that you handle it this time. No ‘super top secret missions’ that somehow make you miss the whole pee pad period.”

Steve grinned. “Is that the only thing you’re asking for?”

“How about you to start making sure the clothes end up in the laundry basket? I am tired of finding the crotch of my underwear chewed out by Brooklyn.”

“Of course,” Steve easily gave in, stepping closer, “but maybe I should give you something you didn’t ask for?"

"Yeah, maybe you should," Tony grunted, "Like taking me home to let me eat- oh, fuck-" Tony’s brain skidded to a halt when Steve dropped to one knee in the wet grass.

“What the fuck,” Tony finally managed after he swallowed past the lump in his throat, staring down at Steve, who was now holding a small velvet box in his hands, a gleam of silver nestled in-between two tiny pillows. “No, seriously, Steve; what the fuck?”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Steve said, a fiercely determined look in his eyes. It was a look Tony had only seen twice before, when Steve first found out that Bucky Barnes was still alive and that time the veterinarian had said Brooklyn was getting chubby and she needed to go on a strict diet. “And I know that you’re going to try and back out because you’re scared-“

“What does that mean?”

“-and you might even go to the press and try and break us up again-“

“I apologized for that!”

“-but I want you. I want you to stay with me.”

Tony shuddered, his hand coming up to rest on Steve’s shoulders, “I…I’ll always stay with you,” he swallowed, “I would never leave.”

Steve’s features softened, reaching out to gently grasp Tony’s left hand in one of his own, “I know you won’t, but indulge me. You know I’m a visual person.” He slipped the ring onto Tony’s left hand, the small box thrown behind him as an afterthought, “And right now I’m really enjoying the view,” he said, looking up at Tony, who was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “So what do you say, Mr. Stark, want to make me the happiest man?”

An asshole, Steve was a total asshole, and that was the worst proposal ever, and yet Tony couldn’t believe that he was going to say-

Then Steve’s hand was suddenly in his jeans, palming his growing erection. It only took a few seconds for Tony to get completely hard, he still had _‘yes’_ halfway in his mouth, and then his jeans were unzipped and yanked down and Steve dropped down to his other knee, no longer genuflecting and proposing but instead swallowing his cock.

Tony bit back a whimper as he watched Steve’s lip stretch, taking him in, blue eyes watching him intently. When his eyes snapped to the ring on Tony’s finger he swallowed deeper, pulling Tony in further and suckling at the pre-cum that was now flowing smoothly from the head.

Steve managed to look smug even with his mouth stuffed full of cock, and he barely stopped to breath when he readjusted their position, easily lifting Tony’s legs with no effort so they were draped over his shoulders, pushing Tony into the trellis.

Tony had no idea how his day led to this: him flushed and sweating, t-shirt rucked up, jeans and boxers dangling off one leg, his back cushioned by grape leaves, broken pieces of vine digging into his bare ass, heels digging into Steve’s- _his fiancé’s_ \- shoulders, receiving the most amazing blowjob of his life after he received a proposal from the man he loved.

God, what was his life?

He moaned helplessly when Steve’s tongue swirled one last time around his head, letting it go with an insanely loud pop. He looked down and groaned when he saw Steve licking at his fingers, a smug smirk dancing across his lips, and Tony was about ready to comment on how _he didn’t actually say yes_ when Steve took him back into his mouth. It was hot and wet and sloppy, and Tony spared a slightly hysterical thought for what the headlines would say if they were found ( _Iron Man and Captain America found making a naked Merlot at Martha Clara_ ) when a mostly dry finger dipped into the cleft of his ass and pressed against his hole.

Tony arched, body flailing at the pressure, but Steve’s firm grip of his other hand and the way he was pressed up against the leafy trellis kept him in place, and it was all he could do not to scream in pleasure and become dead weight when Steve hit his prostrate.

Tony came spectacularly, moving away from the trellis at the feeling of bliss that straightened his spine as his orgasm was ripped from him. He was vaguely aware of Steve lowering him, straightening his shirt after adjusting his pants lovingly, before he crowded him into the leaves again.

Aside from the a few droplets of come on his shirt and his lips, Steve was still fully dressed and the picture of a responsible boyfriend who had just proposed to his sweetheart. “Are you feeling better now?” He asked, pressing a small kiss on Tony’s lip and then backing up enough to rest his forehead against Tony’s.

Tony hummed, looping his arms around Steve’s neck to pull him down, roughly, into another kiss. Steve had to stoop and balance against the grape trellis, which led to a couple red grapes bursting against Tony’s back.

Steve beamed when he backed up, smiling so wide as if to show off his back molars. “Good. I didn’t think you’d get so angry about another dog, but this did give me an excuse to propose now instead of later at the house.”

Tony was gobsmacked. “I-what?”

“Right, sorry. I might have jumped the gun. I am pretty sure you said yes?” Steve tugged at his shirt and looked down the row at Brooklyn and Manhattan, both dogs sitting sedately at the end of the row with their leashes loosely tied around a tension wire. Happy was nowhere to be seen.

“W-what?”

“The ring’s on your finger. It’s official.”

Tony looked down at his hand, and the silver band that had been forced on his hand earlier, and drew a blank at what that meant. As Steve brushed away a couple grape leaves that were tangled in his hair as a result of post-proposal blowjob celebrations, Tony shoved him away so he could properly glare at his fiancé.

“You asshole, you didn’t even ask properly, I can’t believe you-“

“Say cheese!”

And Tony was pulled into a selfie that involved him squinting, confused, at the camera with Steve grinning extra wide.

“Can’t take it back now.”

“Motherfu-“

“Clint says he calls flower girl

“I am not sharing any of my pie.” Tony grumbled, stomping off towards the dogs and the building. “And I’m telling Pepper I remembered to pick up the wine, not you.”

“Yes, dear.”

\---

Tony was on a hair-trigger as Steve straddled his hips, towering over him with a lazy smirk. He reached up to place his hands on Steve’s thighs, squeezing lightly when he was distracted once again by the new silver glint on his left hand. “You’d better not crush me,” Tony panted, “At least make it to the wedding, darling.”

“As if you don’t enjoy me doing all the work, Mr. Stark, or should I start calling you Mr. Rogers?” Asked Steve, winking at Tony as he reached back to grip Tony, holding him in place as he sank down slowly with a moan. It had to be for Tony’s benefit, since he had been toying with Steve’s ass for over a half hour, and had the sore jaw to prove it, but it did the job, his cock twitching inside Steve as his ass settled against Tony’s thighs in one slow slide. His hand reached up to palm at Steve’s own crotch, which was softening from the orgasm just before, and received a pained hiss from Steve when his cock twitched sportingly.

Steve seemed to understand how close Tony was, because he stopped teasing and set an aggressive pace fucking himself on Tony’s cock. Tony groaned, watching Steve’s thighs flex and strain as he rolled himself carefully onto Tony’s dick. Steve rubbed thoughtfully against him before dropping a bit deeper, his softening dick bouncing between his legs and against Tony’s stomach on every other pass.

“A-are you trying to tell me that I’m going to be Mrs. Rogers?,” Tony gasped the question, nails digging into Steve’s thighs when he came down at a certain angle, which caused him to moan and Tony to thrust up slightly. The movement caused the cum deep inside Tony to trickle out, which caused him to stutter at the odd feeling of dripping from both the front and back.

“You know it,” said Steve, grinning as he clenched around Tony’s cock, causing the other man to gasp, and then sat up with a long, slow drag of flesh against flesh. “Besides, you’re Brooklyn’s mommy. Only makes sense that you take my name. You’re not going to say no, are you?”

Tony yowled as Steve sat back down in one quick jerk, his weight pinning Tony in place as he came.

Steve had been so worked out, so loose, that every spurt of cum from Tony trickled out again, dripping down Tony’s shaft and along his balls to ruin the sheets. He shuddered; head pressed back against the pillows, and bit back the curses and moans that came with his orgasm.

“I love watching you cum,” Steve said softly, brushing back Tony’s bangs as he heaved in breaths. “Makes me want to stay here all day.” He wriggled his hips and felt Tony’s wet cock slip out.

“Get off me,” Tony groaned, feeling completely drained and happy, “you’re too heavy. Going to crush me with your super soldier butt.”

“I feel so weak-“

“Don’t you dare-“

“Oh no,” Steve grinned as he started to sink down towards the bed, elbows bracketing Tony’s head and he dropped his weight, “I can’t stop, gravity increasing-“

“Damnit, Steve!” Tony whined as Steve sprawled over him, covering him from head to toe and crushing him into the mattress. “I hate you,” Tony hissed, voice muffled against Steve’s chest as he squirmed.

“I don’t know, the ring says otherwise,” Steve teased, rolling them over in a semi-practiced motion so Tony was sprawled over his chest. “It might even mean you love me.”

“That’s debatable.” Tony grunted, stretching for the comforter that had fallen to the ground, ignoring the tongue Steve absentmindedly ran over his nipple, “In fact, I could still say no.”

“Shhhh,” Steve tugged the comforter over their cooling bodies, ignoring Tony’s comment, “Heated body pillows aren’t supposed to talk.”

Steve’s lips found Tony’s, intertwining their fingers together, but Tony pulled away after a moment so he could rummage in the nightstand drawer for something to clean up. Only finding mints and a pack of batteries, Tony leant against the headboard, a disgruntled sigh leaving his lips. “I’m going to have to buy you something gaudy. A Tony Stark engagement ring is a statement piece.”

Steve grunted in agreement, “Yes, yes, of course. Make it as ridiculous as you want, rubies and diamonds galore, I don’t care as long as you come back down,” Steve grumbled from his sprawled out position on the bed, eyes closed and voice becoming thick as he fell asleep. “’m cold and miss you.”

“Only if you promise not to roll me into the wet spot.”

Steve huffed, which was not a promise, but Tony still went. Because Steve was his _fiancé_ and they were going to get _married_. Tony most definitely did not smile goofily as Steve pulled him into his arms, wrapping him in a bear hug and nuzzling at his hair.

“J, kick up the temp and open the door for the dogs.”

Their legs tangled together, Tony’s feet barely brushing Steve’s calves, and Tony didn’t think he would ever get to this point in his life. He thoughtlessly hooked his cold toes against the back of Steve’s knees and tried to recall the last time he was ever comfortable with someone so much bigger than himself. Drawing a blank and cuddling closer, Tony let out a deep sigh of satisfaction at Steve’s rumbly snores.

The last thing Tony remembered before falling asleep, scooching closer to Steve, was the warmth of Steve’s touch and the bounce of the bed as one of the dogs jumped up.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that. Finally done. Might go back to fix some misspellings and other stuff I did.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who read and maybe got an ounce of enjoyment out of this. Sorry it took so long. 
> 
> I hope you're all happy Steve and Tony ended this with happily wedded bliss with two dogs.
> 
> See you next time!


End file.
